GIFT   ©F 

of 


STEEP  TRAILS 


I 


MOUNTAIN  SHEEP 

(Ovis  nelsoni) 
From  a  drawing  by  Allan  Brooks 


STEEP  TRAILS 

BY 

JOHN  MUIR 

EDITED  BY 
WILLIAM  FKEDERIC  BADE 

With  Illustrations 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

MDCCCCXVIII 


COPYRIGHT,  1918,  BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  September  ig/8 


\" 


EDITOR'S  NOTE 

THE  papers  brought  together  in  this  volume 
have,  in  a  general  way,  been  arranged  in  chron 
ological  sequence.  They  span  a  period  of 
twenty-nine  years  of  Muir's  life,  during  which 
they  appeared  as  letters  and  articles,  for  the 
most  part  in  publications  of  limited  and  local 
circulation.  The  Utah  and  Nevada  sketches, 
and  the  two  San  Gabriel  papers,  were  con 
tributed,  in  the  form  of  letters,  to  the  San 
Francisco  Evening  Bulletin  toward  the  end  of 
the  seventies.  Written  in  the  field,  they  pre 
serve  the  freshness  of  the  author's  first  impres 
sions  of  those  regions.  Much  of  the  material 
in  the  chapters  on  Mount  Shasta  first  took 
similar  shape  in  1874.  Subsequently  it  was 
rewritten  and  much  expanded  for  inclusion  in 
Picturesque  California,  and  the  Region  West  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  which  Muir  began  to  edit 
in  1888.  In  the  same  work  appeared  the  de 
scription  of  Washington  and  Oregon.  The 
charming  little  essay  "Wild  Wool"  was  writ 
ten  for  the  Overland  Monthly  in  1875.  "A 
Geologist's  Winter  Walk"  is  an  extract  from 
a  letter  to  a  friend,  who,  appreciating  its  fine 
literary  quality,  took  the  responsibility  of  send- 


383082 


EDITOR'S  NOTE 

ing  it  to  the  Overland  Monthly  without  the 
author's  knowledge.  The  concluding  chapter 
on  "The  Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado"  was 
published  in  the  Century  Magazine  in  1902,  and 
exhibits  Muir's  powers  of  description  at  their 
maturity. 

Some  of  these  papers  were  revised  by  the 
author  during  the  later  years  of  his  life,  and 
these  revisions  are  a  part  of  the  form  in  which 
they  now  appear.  The  chapters  on  Mount 
Shasta,  Oregon,  and  Washington  will  be  found 
to  contain  occasional  sentences  and  a  few 
paragraphs  that  were  included,  more  or  less 
verbatim,  in  The  Mountains  of  California  and 
Our  National  Parks.  Being  an  important  part 
of  their  present  context,  these  paragraphs 
could  not  be  omitted  without  impairing  the 
unity  of  the  author's  descriptions. 

The  editor  feels  confident  that  this  volume 
will  meet,  in  every  way,  the  high  expectations 
of  Muir's  readers.  The  recital  of  his  experi 
ences  during  a  storm  night  on  the  summit  of 
Mount  Shasta  will  take  rank  among  the  most 
thrilling  of  his  records  of  adventure.  His 
observations  on  the  dead  towns  of  Nevada, 
and  on  the  Indians  gathering  their  harvest 
of  pine-nuts,  recall  a  phase  of  Western  life 
that  has  left  few  traces  in  American  literature. 
Many,  too,  will  read  with  pensive  interest  the 


EDITOR'S  NOTE 

author's  glowing  description  of  what  was  one 
time  called  the  New  Northwest.  Almost  in 
conceivably  great  have  been  the  changes 
wrought  in  that  region  during  the  past  gener 
ation.  Henceforth  the  landscapes  that  Muir 
saw  there  will  live  in  good  part  only  in  his 
writings,  for  fire,  axe,  plough,  and  gunpowder 
have  made  away  with  the  supposedly  bound 
less  forest  wildernesses  and  their  teeming  life. 
WILLIAM  FREDERIC  BADE 

BERKELEY,  CALIFORNIA 
May,  1918 


CONTENTS 

I.  WILD  WOOL 3 

II.  A  GEOLOGIST'S  WINTER  WALK     .      .     19 

III.  SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA      .    29 

IV.  A  PERILOUS  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUM 
MIT  57 

L,  V.  SHASTA  RAMBLES  AND  MODOC  MEMO 
RIES        82 

VI.  THE  CITY  OF  THE  SAINTS       .      .      .  105 

*/  VII.  A  GREAT  STORM  IN  UTAH      .      .      .114 

VIII.  BATHING  IN  SALT  LAKE   .      .      .      .121 

IX.  MORMON  LILIES 126 

X.  THE  SAN  GABRIEL  VALLEY    .      .      .136 

XI.  THE  SAN  GABRIEL  MOUNTAINS    .      .  145 

XII.  NEVADA  FARMS 154 

XIII.  NEVADA  FORESTS 164 

XIV.  NEVADA'S  TIMBER  BELT  .      .      .      .174 
XV.  GLACIAL  PHENOMENA  IN  NEVADA      .  184 

XVI.  NEVADA'S  DEAD  TOWNS  .      .      .      .195 

XVII.  PUGET  SOUND 204 

XVIII.  THE  FORESTS  OF  WASHINGTON  .  227 


CONTENTS 

XIX.  PEOPLE  AND  TOWNS  OF  PUGET  SOUND  248 
XX.  AN  ASCENT  OF  MOUNT  RAINIER         .  261 

XXI.  THE  PHYSICAL  AND  CLIMATIC  CHAR 
ACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON         .      .      .271 

XXII.  THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON  AND  THEIR 

INHABITANTS 299 

XXIII.  THE  RIVERS  OF  OREGON  ....  327 

XXIV.  THE  GRAND  CANON  OF  THE  COLORADO  347 

INDEX  .  383 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  (Ovis  nelsoni)      .      .      .  Frontispiece 
From  a  drawing  by  Allan  Brooks,  reproduced  by  per 
mission  of  the  State  Fish  and  Game  Commission  of 
California. 

TlSSIACK  FROM  GLACIER  POINT!  TENAYA  CANON     .    20 

MOUNT  SHASTA  AFTER  A  SNOWSTORM    ....    30 
Photograph  by  Pillsbury's  Pictures,   Inc.,    of  San 
Francisco 

AT  SHASTA  SODA  SPRINGS 48 

IN  THE  WAHSATCH  MOUNTAINS 106 

SEGO  LILIES  (Calochortus  Nuttallii)        .      .      .      .134 

SAN  GABRIEL  VALLEY 138 

THE  SAGE  LEVELS  OF  THE  NEVADA  DESERT       .      .168 
MOUNT  RAINIER  FROM  THE  SODA  SPRINGS   .      .      .  262 

THE  OREGON  SEA-BLUFFS          274 

CAPE  HORN,  COLUMBIA  RIVER 340 

THE  GRAND  CANON  AT  O'NEILL'S  POINT     .      .      .  348 

All  but  the  first  three  illustrations  are  from  photo 
graphs  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 


STEEP  TRAILS 


STEEP  TRAILS 

I 

WILD  WOOL 

MORAL  improvers  have  calls  to  preach.  I 
have  a  friend  who  has  a  call  to  plough,  and 
woe  to  the  daisy  sod  or  azalea  thicket  that 
falls  under  the  savage  redemption  of  his  -keen 
steel  shares.  Not  content  with  the  so-called 
subjugation  of  every  terrestrial  bog,  rock,  and 
moorland,  he  would  fain  discover  some  method 
of  reclamation  applicable  to  the  ocean  and  the 
sky,  that  in  due  calendar  time  they  might  be 
brought  to  bud  and  blossom  as  the  rose.  Our 
efforts  are  of  no  avail  when  we  seek  to  turn  his 
attention  to  wild  roses,  or  to  the  fact  that  both 
ocean  and  sky  are  already  about  as  rosy  as 
possible  —  the  one  with  stars,  the  other  with 
dulse,  and  foam,  and  wild  light.  The  practical 
developments  of  his  culture  are  orchards  and 
clover-fields  wearing  a  smiling,  benevolent 
aspect,  truly  excellent  in  their  way,  though  a 
near  view  discloses  something  barbarous  in 
them  all.  Wildness  charms  not  my  friend, 
charm  it  never  so  wisely :  and  whatsoever  may 
be  the  character  of  his  heaven,  his  earth  seems 

3 


STEEr  TRAILS 

only  a  chaos  of  agricultural  possibilities  calling 
for  grubbing-hoes  and  manures. 

Sometimes  I  venture  to  approach  him  with 
a  plea  for  wildness,  when  he  good-naturedly 
shakes  a  big  mellow  apple  in  my  face,  reiterat 
ing  his  favorite  aphorism,  "  Culture  is  an 
orchard  apple;  Nature  is  a  crab."  Not  all  cul 
ture,  however,  is  equally  destructive  and  inap- 
preciative.  Azure  skies  and  crystal  waters  find 
loving  recognition,  and  few  there  be  who  would 
welcome  the  axe  among  mountain  pines,  or 
would  care  to  apply  any  correction  to  the  tones 
and  costumes  of  mountain  waterfalls.  Never 
theless,  the  barbarous  notion  is  almost  univer 
sally  entertained  by  civilized  man,  that  there 
is  in  all  the  manufactures  of  Nature  some 
thing  essentially  coarse  which  can  and  must  be 
eradicated  by  human  culture.  I  was,  therefore, 
delighted  in  finding  that  the  wild  wool  growing 
upon  mountain  sheep  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Mount  Shasta  was  much  finer  than  the  aver 
age  grades  of  cultivated  wool.  This  fine  dis 
covery  was  made  some  three  months  ago,1  while 
hunting  among  the  Shasta  sheep  between 
Shasta  and  Lower  Klamath  Lake.  Three 
fleeces  were  obtained  —  one  that  belonged  to 
a  large  ram  about  four  years  old,  another  to  a 
ewe  about  the  same  age,  and  another  to  a 

1  This  essay  was  written  early  in  1875.    [Editor.] 
4 


WILD  WOOL 

yearling  lamb.  After  parting  their  beautiful 
wool  on  the  side  and  many  places  along  the 
back,  shoulders,  and  hips,  and  examining  it 
closely  with  my  lens,  I  shouted:  "Well  done 
for  wildness!  Wild  wool  is  finer  than  tame!" 

My  companions  stooped  down  and  examined 
the  fleeces  for  themselves,  pulling  out  tufts 
and  ringlets,  spinning  them  between  their 
fingers,  and  measuring  the  length  of  the  staple, 
each  in  turn  paying  tribute  to  wildness.  It 
was  finer,  and  no  mistake;  finer  than  Spanish 
Merino.  Wild  wool  is  finer  than  tame. 

"Here,"  said  I,  "is  an  argument  for  fine 
wildness  that  needs  no  explanation.  Not  that 
such  arguments  are  by  any  means  rare,  for  all 
wildness  is  finer  than  tameness,  but  because 
fine  wool  is  appreciable  by  everybody  alike  — 
from  the  most  speculative  president  of  na 
tional  wool-growers'  associations  all  the  way 
down  to  the  gude-wife  spinning  by  her  ingle- 
side." 

Nature  is  a  good  mother,  and  sees  well  to 
the  clothing  of  her  many  bairns  —  birds  with 
smoothly  imbricated  feathers,  beetles  with 
shining  jackets,  and  bears  with  shaggy  furs. 
In  the  tropical  south,  where  the  sun  warms 
like  a  fire,  they  are  allowed  to  go  thinly  clad; 
but  in  the  snowy  northland  she  takes  care  to 
clothe  warmly.  The  squirrel  has  socks  and 


STEEP  TRAILS 

mittens,  and  a  tail  broad  enough  for  a  blanket; 
the  grouse  is  densely  feathered  down  to  the 
ends  of  his  toes;  and  the  wild  sheep,  besides 
his  undergarment  of  fine  wool,  has  a  thick 
overcoat  of  hair  that  sheds  off  both  the  snow 
and  the  rain.  Other  provisions  and  adaptations 
in  the  dresses  of  animals,  relating  less  to  climate 
than  to  the  more  mechanical  circumstances  of 
life,  are  made  with  the  same  consummate  skill 
that  characterizes  all  the  love-work  of  Nature. 
Land,  water,  and  air,  jagged  rocks,  muddy 
ground,  sand-beds,  forests,  underbrush,  grassy 
plains,  etc.,  are  considered  in  all  their  possible 
combinations  while  the  clothing  of  her  beauti 
ful  wildlings  is  preparing.  No  matter  what  the 
circumstances  of  their  lives  may  be,  she  never 
allows  them  to  go  dirty  or  ragged.  The  mole, 
living  always  in  the  dark  and  in  the  dirt,  is 
yet  as  clean  as  the  otter  or  the  wave-washed 
seal;  and  our  wild  sheep,  wading  in  snow, 
roaming  through  bushes,  and  leaping  among 
jagged  storm-beaten  cliffs,  wears  a  dress  so 
exquisitely  adapted  to  its  mountain  life  that 
it  is  always  found  as  unruffled  and  stainless 
as  a  bird. 

On  leaving  the  Shasta  hunting-grounds  I 
selected  a  few  specimen  tufts,  and  brought 
them  away  with  a  view  to  making  more  lei 
surely  examinations;  but,  owing  to  the  imper- 

6 


WILD  WOOL 

fectness  of  the  instruments  at  my  command, 
the  results  thus  far  obtained  must  be  regarded 
only  as  rough  approximations. 

As  already  stated,  the  clothing  of  our  wild 
sheep  is  composed  of  fine  wool  and  coarse  hair. 
The  hairs  are  from  about  two  to  four  inches 
long,  mostly  of  a  dull  bluish-gray  color,  though 
varying  somewhat  with  the  seasons.  In  gen 
eral  characteristics  they  are  closely  related  to 
the  hairs  of  the  deer  and  antelope,  being  light, 
spongy,  and  elastic,  with  a  highly  polished 
surface,  and  though  somewhat  ridged  and  spi- 
raled,  like  wool,  they  do  not  manifest  the 
slightest  tendency  to  felt  or  become  taggy.  A 
hair  two  and  a  half  inches  long,  which  is  per 
haps  near  the  average  length,  will  stretch 
about  one  fourth  of  an  inch  before  breaking. 
The  diameter  decreases  rapidly  both  at  the 
top  and  bottom,  but  is  maintained  throughout 
the  greater  portion  of  the  length  with  a  fair 
degree  of  regularity.  The  slender  tapering 
point  in  which  the  hairs  terminate  is  nearly 
black:  but,  owing  to  its  fineness  as  compared 
with  the  main  trunk,  the  quantity  of  black 
ness  is  not  sufficient  to  affect  greatly  the  gen 
eral  color.  The  number  of  hairs  growing  upon  a 
square  inch  is  about  ten  thousand;  the  number 
of  wool  fibers  is  about  twenty-five  thousand, 
or  two  and  a  half  times  that  of  the  hairs.  The 


STEEP  TRAILS 

wool  fibers  are  white  and  glossy,  and  beauti 
fully  spired  into  ringlets.  The  average  length 
of  the  staple  is  about  an  inch  and  a  half.  A 
fiber  of  this  length,  when  growing  undisturbed 
down  among  the  hairs,  measures  about  an 
inch;  hence  the  degree  of  curliness  may  easily 
be  inferred.  I  regret  exceedingly  that  my  in 
struments  do  not  enable  me  to  measure  the 
diameter  of  the  fibers,  in  order  that  their 
degrees  of  fineness  might  be  definitely  com 
pared  with  each  other  and  with  the  finest  of 
the  domestic  breeds;  but  that  the  three  wild 
fleeces  under  consideration  are  considerably 
finer  than  the  average  grades  of  Merino 
shipped  from  San  Francisco  is,  I  think,  un 
questionable. 

When  the  fleece  is  parted  and  looked  into 
with  a  good  lens,  the  skin  appears  of  a  beauti 
ful  pale-yellow  color,  and  the  delicate  wool 
fibers  are  seen  growing  up  among  the  strong 
hairs,  like  grass  among  stalks  of  corn,  every 
individual  fiber  being  protected  about  as  spe 
cially  and  effectively  as  if  inclosed  in  a  sepa 
rate  husk.  Wild  wool  is  too  fine  to  stand  by 
itself,  the  fibers  being  about  as  frail  and  invisi 
ble  as  the  floating  threads  of  spiders,  while  the 
hairs  against  which  they  lean  stand  erect  like 
hazel  wands;  but,  notwithstanding  their  great 
dissimilarity  in  size  and  appearance,  the  wool 

8 


WILD  WOOL 

and  hair  are  forms  of  the  same  thing,  modified 
in  just  that  way  and  to  just  that  degree  that 
renders  them  most  perfectly  subservient  to  the 
well-being  of  the  sheep.  Furthermore,  it  will 
be  observed  that  these  wild  modifications  are 
entirely  distinct  from  those  which  are  brought 
chancingly  into  existence  through  the  acci 
dents  and  caprices  of  culture;  the  former  being 
inventions  of  God  for  the  attainment  of  defi 
nite  ends.  Like  the  modifications  of  limbs  — 
the  fin  for  swimming,  the  wing  for  flying,  the 
foot  for  walking  —  so  the  fine  wool  for  warmth, 
the  hair  for  additional  warmth  and  to  protect 
the  wool,  and  both  together  for  a  fabric  to 
wear  well  in  mountain  roughness  and  wash 
well  in  mountain  storms. 

The  effects  of  human  culture  upon  wild  wool 
are  analogous  to  those  produced  upon  wild 
roses.  In  the  one  case  there  is  an  abnormal 
development  of  petals  at  the  expense  of  the 
stamens,  in  the  other  an  abnormal  develop 
ment  of  wool  at  the  expense  of  the  hair. 
Garden  roses  frequently  exhibit  stamens  in 
which  the  transmutation  to  petals  may  be 
observed  in  various  stages  of  accomplishment, 
and  analogously  the  fleeces  of  tame  sheep 
occasionally  contain  a  few  wild  hairs  that  are 
undergoing  transmutation  to  wool.  Even  wild 
wool  presents  here  and  there  a  fiber  that 

9 


STEEP  TRAILS 

appears  to  be  in  a  state  of  change.  In  the 
course  of  my  examinations  of  the  wild  fleeces 
mentioned  above,  three  fibers  were  found  that 
were  wool  at  one  end  and  hair  at  the  other. 
This,  however,  does  not  necessarily  imply 
imperfection,  or  any  process  of  change  similar 
to  that  caused  by  human  culture.  Water-lilies 
contain  parts  variously  developed  into  stamens 
at  one  end,  petals  at  the  other,  as  the  constant 
and  normal  condition.  These  half  wool,  half 
hair  fibers  may  therefore  subserve  some  fixed 
requirement  essential  to  the  perfection  of  the 
whole,  or  they  may  simply  be  the  fine  boundary- 
lines  where  an  exact  balance  between  the  wool 
and  the  hair  is  attained. 

I  have  been  offering  samples  of  mountain 
wool  to  my  friends,  demanding  in  return  that 
the  fineness  of  wildness  be  fairly  recognized 
and  confessed,  but  the  returns  are  deplorably 
tame.  The  first  question  asked  is,  "Now  truly, 
wild  sheep,  wild  sheep,  have  you  any  wool?" 
while  they  peer  curiously  down  among  the 
hairs  through  lenses  and  spectacles.  "Yes, 
wild  sheep,  you  have  wool;  but  Mary's  lamb 
had  more.  In  the  name  of  use,  how  many  wild 
sheep,  think  you,  would  be  required  to  furnish 
wool  sufficient  for  a  pair  of  socks?  "  I  endeavor 
to  point  out  the  irrelevancy  of  the  latter  ques 
tion,  arguing  that  wild  wool  was  not  made  for 
10 


WILD  WOOL 

man  but  for  sheep,  and  that,  however  deficient 
as  clothing  for  other  animals,  it  is  just  the  thing 
for  the  brave  mountain-dweller  that  wears  it. 
Plain,  however,  as  all  this  appears,  the  quan 
tity  question  rises  again  and  again  in  all  its 
commonplace  tameness.  For  in  my  experience 
it  seems  well-nigh  impossible  to  obtain  a  hear 
ing  on  behalf  of  Nature  from  any  other  stand 
point  than  that  of  human  use.  Domestic  flocks 
yield  more  flannel  per  sheep  than  the  wild, 
therefore  it  is  claimed  that  culture  has  im 
proved  upon  wildness;  and  so  it  has  as  far  as 
flannel  is  concerned,  but  all  to  the  contrary  as 
far  as  a  sheep's  dress  is  concerned.  If  every 
wild  sheep  inhabiting  the  Sierra  were  to  put 
on  tame  wool,  probably  only  a  few  would  sur 
vive  the  dangers  of  a  single  season.  With  their 
fine  limbs  muffled  and  buried  beneath  a  tangle 
of  hairless  wool,  they  would  become  short- 
winded,  and  fall  an  easy  prey  to  the  strong 
mountain  wolves.  In  descending  precipices 
they  would  be  thrown  out  of  balance  and 
killed,  by  their  taggy  wool  catching  upon 
sharp  points  of  rocks.  Disease  would  also  be 
brought  on  by  the  dirt  which  always  finds  a 
lodgment  in  tame  wool,  and  by  the  draggled 
and  water-soaked  condition  into  which  it  falls 
during  stormy  weather. 
No  dogma  taught  by  the  present  civilization 
11 


STEEP  TRAILS 

seems  to  form  so  insuperable  an  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  a  right  understanding  of  the  rela 
tions  which  culture  sustains  to  wildness  as 
that  which  regards  the  world  as  made  especially 
for  the  uses  of  man.  Every  animal,  plant,  and 
crystal  controverts  it  in  the  plainest  terms. 
Yet  it  is  taught  from  century  to  century  as 
something  ever  new  and  precious,  and  in  the 
resulting  darkness  the  enormous  conceit  is 
allowed  to  go  unchallenged. 

I  have  never  yet  happened  upon  a  trace  of 
evidence  that  seemed  to  show  that  any  one 
animal  was  ever  made  for  another  as  much  as 
it  was  made  for  itself.  Not  that  Nature  mani 
fests  any  such  thing  as  selfish  isolation.  In  the 
making  of  every  animal  the  presence  of  every 
other  animal  has  been  recognized.  Indeed, 
every  atom  in  creation  may  be  said  to  be  ac 
quainted  with  and  married  to  every  other,  but 
with  universal  union  there  is  a  division  suffi 
cient  in  degree  for  the  purposes  of  the  most 
intense  individuality;  no  matter,  therefore, 
what  may  be  the  note  which  any  creature  forms 
in  the  song  of  existence,  it  is  made  first  for 
itself,  then  more  and  more  remotely  for  all  the 
world  and  worlds. 

Were  it  not  for  the  exercise  of  individualizing 
cares  on  the  part  of  Nature,  the  universe  would 
be  felted  together  like  a  fleece  of  tame  wool. 

12 


WILD  WOOL 

But  we  are  governed  more  than  we  know,  and 
most  when  we  are  wildest.  Plants,  animals, 
and  stars  are  all  kept  in  place,  bridled  along 
appointed  ways,  with  one  another,  and  through 
the  midst  of  one  another  —  killing  and  being 
killed,  eating  and  being  eaten,  in  harmonious 
proportions  and  quantities.  And  it  is  right 
that  we  should  thus  reciprocally  make  use  of 
one  another,  rob,  cook,  and  consume,  to  the 
utmost  of  our  healthy  abilities  and  desires. 
Stars  attract  one  another  as  they  are  able,  and 
harmony  results.  Wild  lambs  eat  as  many  wild 
flowers  as  they  can  find  or  desire,  and  men 
and  wolves  eat  the  lambs  to  just 'the  same 
extent. 

This  consumption  of  one  another  in  its  vari 
ous  modifications  is  a  kind  of  culture  varying 
with  the  degree  of  directness  with  which  it  is 
carried  out,  but  we  should  be  careful  not  to 
ascribe  to  such  culture  any  improving  qualities 
upon  those  on  whom  it  is  brought  to  bear.  The 
water-ouzel  plucks  moss  from  the  river-bank 
to  build  its  nest,  but  it  does  not  improve  the 
moss  by  plucking  it.  We  pluck  feathers  from 
birds,  and  less  directly  wool  from  wild  sheep, 
for  the  manufacture  of  clothing  and  cradle- 
nests,  without  improving  the  wool  for  the  sheep, 
or  the  feathers  for  the  bird  that  wore  them. 
When  a  hawk  pounces  upon  a  linnet  and  pro- 
is 


STEEP  TRAILS 

ceeds  to  pull  out  its  feathers,  preparatory  to 
making  a  meal,  the  hawk  may  be  said  to  be 
cultivating  the  linnet,  and  he  certainly  does 
effect  an  improvement  as  far  as  hawk-food  is 
concerned;  but  what  of  the  songster?  He  ceases 
to  be  a  linnet  as  soon  as  he  is  snatched  from 
the  woodland  choir;  and  when,  hawklike,  we 
snatch  the  wild  sheep  from  its  native  rock,  and, 
instead  of  eating  and  wearing  it  at  once,  carry 
it  home,  and  breed  the  hair  out  of  its  wool 
and  the  bones  out  of  its  body,  it  ceases  to  be  a 
sheep. 

These  breeding  and  plucking  processes  are 
similarly  improving  as  regards  the  secondary 
uses  aimed  at;  and,  although  the  one  requires 
but  a  few  minutes  for  its  accomplishment,  the 
other  many  years  or  centuries,  they  are  essen 
tially  alike.  We  eat  wild  oysters  alive  with 
great  directness,  waiting  for  no  cultivation, 
and  leaving  scarce  a  second  of  distance  between 
the  shell  and  the  lip;  but  we  take  wild  sheep 
home  and  subject  them  to  the  many  extended 
processes  of  husbandry,  and  finish  by  boiling 
them  in  a  pot  —  a  process  which  completes 
all  sheep  improvements  as  far  as  man  is  con 
cerned.  It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  wild 
wool  and  tame  wool  —  wild  sheep  and  tame 
sheep  —  are  terms  not  properly  comparable, 
nor  are  they  in  any  correct  sense  to  be  con- 

14 


WILD  WOOL 

sidered  as  bearing  any  antagonism  toward 
each  other;  they  are  different  things,  planned 
and  accomplished  for  wholly  different  pur 
poses. 

Illustrative  examples  bearing  upon  this  inter 
esting  subject  may  be  multiplied  indefinitely, 
for  they  abound  everywhere  in  the  plant  and 
animal  kingdoms  wherever  culture  has  reached. 
Recurring  for  a  moment  to  apples.  The  beauty 
and  completeness  of  a  wild  apple  tree  living  its 
own  life  in  the  woods  is  heartily  acknowledged 
by  all  those  who  have  been  so  happy  as  to  form 
its  acquaintance.  The  fine  wild  piquancy  of 
its  fruit  is  unrivaled,  but  in  the  great  question 
of  quantity  as  human  food  wild  apples  are 
found  wanting.  Man,  therefore,  takes  the  tree 
from  the  woods,  manures  and  prunes  and 
grafts,  plans  and  guesses,  adds  a  little  of  this 
and  that,  selects  and  rejects,  until  apples  of 
every  conceivable  size  and  softness  are  pro 
duced,  like  nut-galls  in  response  to  the  irritat 
ing  punctures  of  insects.  Orchard  apples  are 
to  me  the  most  eloquent  words  that  culture 
has  ever  spoken,  but  they  reflect  no  imperfec 
tion  upon  Nature's  spicy  crab.  Every  culti 
vated  apple  is  a  crab,  not  improved,  but  cooked, 
variously  softened  and  swelled  out  in  the 
process,  mellowed,  sweetened,  spiced,  and  ren 
dered  pulpy  and  foodful,  but  as  utterly  unfit 
15 


STEEP  TRAILS 

for  the  uses  of  nature  as  a  meadowlark  killed 
and  plucked  and  roasted.  Give  to  Nature  every 
cultured  apple  —  codling,  pippin,  russet  —  and 
every  sheep  so  laboriously  compounded  — 
muffled  Southdowns,  hairy  Cotswolds,  wrin 
kled  Merinos  —  and  she  would  throw  the  one 
to  her  caterpillars,  the  other  to  her  wolves. 

It  is  now  some  thirty-six  hundred  years 
since  Jacob  kissed  his  mother  and  set  out 
across  the  plains  of  Padan-aram  to  begin  his  ex 
periments  upon  the  flocks  of  his  uncle,  Laban; 
and,  notwithstanding  the  high  degree  of  excel 
lence  he  attained  as  a  wool-grower,  and  the 
innumerable  painstaking  efforts  subsequently 
made  by  individuals  and  associations  in  all 
kinds  of  pastures  and  climates,  we  still  seem 
to  be  as  far  from  definite  and  satisfactory  re 
sults  as  we  ever  were.  In  one  breed  the  wool 
is  apt  to  wither  and  crinkle  like  hay  on  a  sun- 
beaten  hillside.  In  another,  it  is  lodged  and 
matted  together  like  the  lush  tangled  grass  of 
a  manured  meadow.  In  one  the  staple  is  defi 
cient  in  length,  in  another  in  fineness;  while  in 
all  there  is  a  constant  tendency  toward  disease, 
rendering  various  washings  and  dippings  indis 
pensable  to  prevent  its  falling  out.  The  prob 
lem  of  the  quality  and  quantity  of  the  carcass 
seems  to  be  as  doubtful  and  as  far  removed 
from  a  satisfactory  solution  as  that  of  the  wool. 

16 


WILD  WOOL 

Desirable  breeds  blundered  upon  by  long 
series  of  groping  experiments  are  often  found 
to  be  unstable  and  subject  to  disease  —  bots, 
foot-rot,  blind-staggers,  etc.  —  causing  infinite 
trouble,  both  among  breeders  and  manufac 
turers.  Would  it  not  be  well,  therefore,  for 
some  one  to  go  back  as  far  as  possible  and  take 
a  fresh  start? 

The  source  or  sources  whence  the  various 
breeds  were  derived  is  not  positively  known, 
but  there  can  be  hardly  any  doubt  of  their 
being  descendants  of  the  four  or  five  wild 
species  so  generally  distributed  throughout  the 
mountainous  portions  of  the  globe,  the  marked 
differences  between  the  wild  and  domestic  spe 
cies  being  readily  accounted  for  by  the  known 
variability  of  the  animal,  and  by  the  long  series 
of  painstaking  selection  to  which  all  its  char 
acteristics  have  been  subjected.  No  other 
animal  seems  to  yield  so  submissively  to  the 
manipulations  of  culture.  Jacob  controlled  the 
color  of  his  flocks  merely  by  causing  them  to 
stare  at  objects  of  the  desired  hue;  and  pos 
sibly  Merinos  may  have  caught  their  wrinkles 
from  the  perplexed  brows  of  their  breeders. 
The  California  species  (Ovis  montana)1  is  a 

1  The  wild  sheep  of  California  are  now  classified  as  Ovis 
nelsoni.  Whether  those  of  the  Shasta  region  belonged  to  the 
latter  species,  or  to  the  bighorn  species  of  Oregon,  Idaho, 
and  Washington,  is  still  an  unsettled  question.  [Editor.] 

17 


STEEP  TRAILS 

noble  animal,  weighing  when  full-grown  some 
three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  and  is  well 
worthy  the  attention  of  wool-growers  as  a 
point  from  which  to  make  a  new  departure, 
for  pure  wildness  is  the  one  great  want,  both 
of  men  and  of  sheep. 


II 

A  GEOLOGIST'S  WINTEK  WALK1 

AFTER  reaching  Turlock,  I  sped  afoot  over 
the  stubble  fields  and  through  miles  of  brown 
hemizonia  and  purple  erigeron,  to  Hopeton, 
conscious  of  little  more  than  that  the  town 
was  behind  and  beneath  me,  and  the  moun 
tains  above  and  before  me;  on  through  the 
oaks  and  chaparral  of  the  foothills  to  Coulter- 
ville;  and  then  ascended  the  first  great  moun 
tain  step  upon  which  grows  the  sugar  pine. 
Here  I  slackened  pace,  for  I  drank  the  spicy, 
resiny  wind,  and  beneath  the  arms  of  this  noble 
tree  I  felt  that  I  was  safely  home.  Never  did 
pine  trees  seem  so  dear.  How  sweet  was  their 
breath  and  their  song,  and  how  grandly  they 
winnowed  the  sky!  I  tingled  my  fingers  among 
their  tassels,  and  rustled  my  feet  among  their 
brown  needles  and  burrs,  and  was  exhilarated 
and  joyful  beyond  all  I  can  write. 

When  I  reached  Yosemite,  all  the  rocks 
seemed  talkative,  and  more  telling  and  lovable 
than  ever.  They  are  dear  friends,  and  seemed 
to  have  warm  blood  gushing  through  their 

1  An  excerpt  from  a  letter  to  a  friend,  written  in  1873. 
[Editor.] 

19 


STEEP  TRAILS 

granite  flesh;  and  I  love  them  with  a  love  inten 
sified  by  long  and  close  companionship.  After 
I  had  bathed  in  the  bright  river,  sauntered  over 
the  meadows,  conversed  with  the  domes,  and 
played  with  the  pines,  I  still  felt  blurred  and 
weary,  as  if  tainted  in  some  way  with  the  sky 
of  your  streets.  I  determined,  therefore,  to 
run  out  for  a  while  to  say  my  prayers  in  the 
higher  mountain  temples.  "The  days  are  sun- 
ful,"  I  said,  "and,  though  now  winter,  no 
great  danger  need  be  encountered,  and  no 
sudden  storm  will  block  my  return,  if  I  am 
watchful." 

The  morning  after  this  decision,  I  started 
up  the  canon  of  Tenaya,  caring  little  about 
the  quantity  of  bread  I  carried;  for,  I  thought, 
a  fast  and  a  storm  and  a  difficult  canon  were 
just  the  medicine  I  needed.  When  I  passed 
Mirror  Lake,  I  scarcely  noticed  it,  for  I  was 
absorbed  in  the  great  Tissiack  —  her  crown  a 
mile  away  in  the  hushed  azure;  her  purple 
granite  drapery  flowing  in  soft  and  graceful 
folds  down  to  my  feet,  embroidered  gloriously 
around  with  deep,  shadowy  forest.  I  have 
gazed  on  Tissiack  a  thousand  times  —  in  days 
of  solemn  storms,  and  when  her  form  shone 
divine  with  the  jewelry  of  winter,  or  was  veiled 
in  living  clouds;  and  I  have  heard  her  voice  of 
winds,  and  snowy,  tuneful  waters  when  floods 
20 


TISSIACK  FROM  GLACIER  POINT:  TENAYA  CANON  ON  THE  LEFT 


A  GEOLOGIST'S  WINTER  WALK 

were  falling;  yet  never  did  her  soul  reveal  itself 
more  impressively  than  now.  I  hung  about 
her  skirts,  lingering  timidly,  until  the  higher 
mountains  and  glaciers  compelled  me  to  push 
up  the  canon. 

This  canon  is  accessible  only  to  mountain 
eers,  and  I  was  anxious  to  carry  my  barometer 
and  clinometer  through  it,  to  obtain  sections 
and  altitudes,  so  I  chose  it  as  the  most  attrac 
tive  highway.  After  I  had  passed  the  tall  groves 
that  stretch  a  mile  above  Mirror  Lake,  and 
scrambled  around  the  Tenaya  Fall,  which  is 
just  at  the  head  of  the  lake  groves,  I  crept 
through  the  dense  and  spiny  chaparral  that 
plushes  the  roots  of  the  mountains  here  for 
miles  in  warm  green,  and  was  ascending  a 
precipitous  rock-front,  smoothed  by  glacial 
action,  when  I  suddenly  fell  —  for  the  first 
time  since  I  touched  foot  to  Sierra  yocks.  After 
several  somersaults,  I  became  insensible  from 
the  shock,  and  when  consciousness  returned  I 
found  myself  wedged  among  short,  stiff  bushes, 
trembling  as  if  cold,  not  injured  in  the  slightest. 

Judging  by  the  sun,  I  could  not  have  been 
insensible  very  long;  probably  not  a  minute, 
possibly  an  hour;  and  I  could  not  remember 
what  made  me  fall,  or  where  I  had  fallen  from; 
but  I  saw  that  if  I  had  rolled  a  little  further, 
my  mountain-climbing  would  have  been  fin- 
21 


STEEP  TRAILS 

ished,  for  just  beyond  the  bushes  the  canon 
wall  steepened  and  I  might  have  fallen  to  the 
bottom.  "There,"  said  I,  addressing  my  feet, 
to  whose  separate  skill  I  had  learned  to  trust 
night  and  day  on  any  mountain,  "that  is  what 
you  get  by  intercourse  with  stupid  town  stairs, 
and  dead  pavements."  I  felt  degraded  and 
worthless.  I  had  not  yet  reached  the  most  dif 
ficult  portion  of  the  canon,  but  I  determined  to 
guide  my  humbled  body  over  the  most  nerve- 
trying  places  I  could  find;  for  I  was  now  awake, 
and  felt  confident  that  the  last  of  the  town  fog 
had  been  shaken  from  both  head  and  feet. 

I  camped  at  the  mouth  of  a  narrow  gorge 
which  is  cut  into  the  bottom  of  the  main  canon, 
determined  to  take  earnest  exercise  next  day. 
No  plushy  boughs  did  my  ill-behaved  bones 
enjoy  that  night,  nor  did  my  bumped  head  get 
a  spicy  cedar  plume  pillow  mixed  with  flowers. 
I  slept  on  a  naked  boulder,  and  when  I  awoke 
all  my  nervous  trembling  was  gone. 

The  gorged  portion  of  the  canon,  in  which  I 
spent  all  the  next  day,  is  about  a  mile  and  a 
half  in  length;  and  I  passed  the  time  in  tracing 
the  action  of  the  forces  that  determined  this 
peculiar  bottom  gorge,  which  is  an  abrupt, 
ragged-walled,  narrow-throated  canon,  formed 
in  the  bottom  of  the  wide-mouthed,  smooth, 
and  beveled  main  canon.  I  will  not  stop  now 

22 


A  GEOLOGIST'S  WINTER  WALK 

to  tell  you  more;  some  day  you  may  see  it, 
like  a  shadowy  line,  from  Cloud's  Rest.  In 
high  water,  the  stream  occupies  all  the  bottom 
of  the  gorge,  surging  and  chafing  in  glorious 
power  from  wall  to  wall.  But  the  sound  of  the 
grinding  was  low  as  I  entered  the  gorge,  scarcely 
hoping  to  be  able  to  pass  through  its  entire 
length.  By  cool  efforts,  along  glassy,  ice-worn 
slopes,  I  reached  the  upper  end  in  a  little  over  a 
day,  but  was  compelled  to  pass  the  second  night 
in  the  gorge,  and  in  the  moonlight  I  wrote  you 
this  short  pencil-letter  in  my  notebook:  — 

The  moon  is  looking  down  into  the  canon,  and 
how  marvelously  the  great  rocks  kindle  to  her  light ! 
Every  dome,  and  brow,  and  swelling  boss  touched 
by  her  white  rays,  glows  as  if  lighted  with  snow. 
I  am  now  only  a  mile  from  last  night's  camp;  and 
have  been  climbing  and  sketching  all  day  in  this 
difficult  but  instructive  gorge.  It  is  formed  in  the 
bottom  of  the  main  canon,  among  the  roots  of 
Cloud's  Rest.  It  begins  at  the  filled-up  lake-basin 
where  I  camped  last  night,  and  ends  a  few  hundred 
yards  above,  in  another  basin  of  the  same  kind. 
The  walls  everywhere  are  craggy  and  vertical,  and 
in  some  places  they  overlean.  It  is  only  from  twenty 
to  sixty  feet  wide,  and  not,  though  black  and 
broken  enough,  the  thin,  crooked  mouth  of  some 
mysterious  abyss;  but  it  was  eroded,  for  in  many 
places  I  saw  its  solid,  seamless  floor. 

I  am  sitting  on  a  big  stone,  against  which  the 
stream  divides,  and  goes  brawling  by  in  rapids  on 
23 


STEEP  TRAILS 

both  sides;  half  of  my  rock  is  white  in  the  light,  half 
in  shadow.  As  I  look  from  the  opening  jaws  of  this 
shadowy  gorge,  South  Dome  is  immediately  in 
front  —  high  in  the  stars,  her  face  turned  from  the 
moon,  with  the  rest  of  her  body  gloriously  muffled 
in  waved  folds  of  granite.  On  the  left,  sculptured 
from  the  main  Cloud's  Rest  ridge,  are  three  mag 
nificent  rocks,  sisters  of  the  great  South  Dome. 
On  the  right  is  the  massive,  moonlit  front  of  Mount 
Watkins,  and  between,  low  down  in  the  furthest 
distance,  is  Sentinel  Dome,  girdled  and  darkened 
with  forest.  In  the  near  foreground  Tenaya  Creek 
is  singing  against  boulders  that  are  white  with 
snow  and  moonbeams.  Now  look  back  twenty 
yards,  and  you  will  see  a  waterfall  fair  as  a  spirit; 
the  moonlight  just  touches  it,  bringing  it  into  relief 
against  a  dark  background  of  shadow.  A  little  to 
the  left,  and  a  dozen  steps  this  side  of  the  fall,  a 
flickering  light  marks  my  camp  —  and  a  precious 
camp  it  is.  A  huge,  glacier-polished  slab,  falling 
from  the  smooth,  glossy  flank  of  Cloud's  Rest,  hap 
pened  to  settle  on  edge  against  the  wall  of  the  gorge. 
I  did  not  know  that  this  slab  was  glacier-polished 
until  I  lighted  my  fire.  Judge  of  my  delight.  I 
think  it  was  sent  here  by  an  earthquake.  It  is  about 
twelve  feet  square.  I  wish  I  could  take  it  home1  for 
a  hearthstone.  Beneath  this  slab  is  the  only  place 
in  this  torrent-swept  gorge  where  I  could  find  sand 
sufficient  for  a  bed. 

I  expected  to  sleep  on  the  boulders,  for  I  spent 
most  of  the  afternoon  on  the  slippery  wall  of  the 
canon,  endeavoring  to  get  around  this  difficult  part 

1  Muir  at  this  time  was  making  Yosemite  Valley  his  home. 
[Editor.] 

24 


A  GEOLOGIST'S  WINTER  WALK 

of  the  gorge,  and  was  compelled  to  hasten  down 
here  for  water  before  dark.  I  shall  sleep  soundly  on 
this  sand;  half  of  it  is  mica.  Here,  wonderful  to 
behold,  are  a  few  green  stems  of  prickly  rubus,  and 
a  tiny  grass.  They  are  here  to  meet  us.  Ay,  even 
here  in  this  darksome  gorge,  "frightened  and  tor 
mented"  with  raging  torrents  and  choking  ava 
lanches  of  snow.  Can  it  be?  As  if  rubus  and  the 
grass  leaf  were  not  enough  of  God's  tender  prattle 
words  of  love,  which  we  so  much  need  in  these 
mighty  temples  of  power,  yonder  in  the  "benmost 
bore"  are  two  blessed  adiantums.  Listen  to  them! 
How  wholly  infused  with  God  is  this  one  big  word 
of  love  that  we  call  the  world!  Good-night.  Do 
you  see  the  fire-glow  on  my  ice-smoothed  slab,  and 
on  my  two  ferns  and  the  rubus  and  grass  panicles? 
And  do  you  hear  how  sweet  a  sleep-song  the  fall 
and  cascades  are  singing? 

The  water-ground  chips  and  knots  that  I 
found  fastened  between  the  rocks  kept  my 
fire  alive  all  through  the  night.  Next  morning 
I  rose  nerved  and  ready  for  another  day  of 
sketching  and  noting,  and  any  form  of  climbing. 
I  escaped  from  the  gorge  about  noon,  after 
accomplishing  some  of  the  most  delicate  feats 
of  mountaineering  I  ever  attempted;  and  here 
the  canon  is  all  broadly  open  again  —  the  floor 
luxuriantly  forested  with  pine,  and  spruce, 
and  silver  fir,  and  brown-trunked  librocedrus. 
The  walls  rise  in  Yosemite  forms,  and  Tenaya 
Creek  comes  down  seven  hundred  feet  in  a 

25 


STEEP  'TRAILS 

white  brush  of  foam.  This  is  a  little  Yosemite 
valley.  It  is  about  two  thousand  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  main  Yosemite,  and  about  twenty- 
four  hundred  below  Lake  Tenaya. 

I  found  the  lake  frozen,  and  the  ice  was  so 
clear  and  unruffled  that  the  surrounding  moun 
tains  and  the  groves  that  look  down  upon  it 
were  reflected  almost  as  perfectly  as  I  ever 
beheld  them  in  the  calm  evening  mirrors  of 
summer.  At  a  little  distance,  it  was  difficult 
to  believe  the  lake  frozen  at  all;  and  when  I 
walked  out  on  it,  cautiously  stamping  at  short 
intervals  to  test  the  strength  of  the  ice,  I 
seemed  to  walk  mysteriously,  without  ade 
quate  faith,  on  the  surface  of  the  water.  The 
ice  was  so  transparent  that  I  could  see  through 
it  the  beautifully  wave-rippled,  sandy  bottom, 
and  the  scales  of  mica  glinting  back  the  down- 
pouring  light.  When  I  knelt  down  with  my 
face  close  to  the  ice,  through  which  the  sun 
beams  were  pouring,  I  was  delighted  to  dis 
cover  myriads  of  TyndalFs  six-rayed  water 
flowers,  magnificently  colored. 

A  grand  old  mountain  mansion  is  this  Tenaya 
region!  In  the  glacier  period  it  was  a  mer  de 
glace,  far  grander  than  the  mer  de  glace  of 
Switzerland,  which  is  only  about  half  a  mile 
broad.  The  Tenaya  mer  de  glace  was  not  less 
than  two  miles  broad,  late  in  the  glacier  epoch, 
26 


A  GEOLOGIST'S  WINTER  WALK 

when  all  the  principal  dividing  crests  were 
bare;  and  its  depth  was  not  less  than  fifteen 
hundred  feet.  Ice-streams  from  Mounts  Lyell 
and  Dana,  and  all  the  mountains  between,  and 
from  the  nearer  Cathedral  Peak,  flowed  hither, 
welded  into  one,  and  worked  together.  After 
eroding  this  Tenaya  Lake  basin,  and  all  the 
splendidly  sculptured  rocks  and  mountains 
that  surround  and  adorn  it,  and  the  great 
Tenaya  Canon,  with  its  wealth  of  all  that 
makes  mountains  sublime,  they  were  welded 
with  the  vast  South,  Lyell,  and  Illilouette 
glaciers  on  one  side,  and  with  those  of  Hoffman 
on  the  other  —  thus  forming  a  portion  of  a  yet 
grander  mer  de  glace  in  Yosemite  Valley. 

I  reached  the  Tenaya  Cafion,  on  my  way 
home,  by  coming  in  from  the  northeast,  ram 
bling  down  over  the  shoulders  of  Mount  Wat- 
kins,  touching  bottom  a  mile  above  Mirror 
Lake.  From  thence  home  was  but  a  saunter 
in  the  moonlight. 

After  resting  one  day,  and  the  weather  con 
tinuing  calm,  I  ran  up  over  the  left  shoulder  of 
South  Dome  and  down  in  front  of  its  grand 
split  face  to  make  some  measurements,  com 
pleted  my  work,  climbed  to  the  right  shoulder, 
struck  off  along  the  ridge  for  Cloud's  Rest,  and 
reached  the  topmost  heave  of  her  sunny  wave 
in  ample  time  to  see  the  sunset. 

27 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Cloud 's  Rest  is  a  thousand  feet  higher  than 
Tissiack.  It  is  a  wavelike  crest  upon  a  ridge, 
which  begins  at  Yosemite  with  Tissiack,  and 
runs  continuously  eastward  to  the  thicket  of 
peaks  and  crests  around  Lake  Tenaya.  This 
lofty  granite  wall  is  bent  this  way  and  that  by 
the  restless  and  weariless  action  of  glaciers 
just  as  if  it  had  been  made  of  dough.  But  the 
grand  circumference  of  mountains  and  forests 
are  coming  from  far  and  near,  densing  into 
one  close  assemblage;  for  the  sun,  their  god 
and  father,  with  love  ineffable,  is  glowing  a 
sunset  farewell.  Not  one  of  all  the  assembled 
rocks  or  trees  seemed  remote.  How  impres 
sively  their  faces  shone  with  responsive  love! 

I  ran  home  in  the  moonlight  with  firm 
strides;  for  the  sun-love  made  me  strong. 
Down  through  the  junipers;  down  through 
the  firs;  now  in  jet  shadows,  now  in  white  light; 
over  sandy  moraines  and  bare,  clanking  rocks; 
past  the  huge  ghost  of  South  Dome  rising 
weird  through  the  firs ;  past  the  glorious  fall  of 
Nevada,  the  groves  of  Illilouette;  through  the 
pines  of  the  valley;  beneath  the  bright  crystal 
sky  blazing  with  stars.  All  of  this  mountain 
wealth  in  one  day !  —  one  of  the  rich  ripe  days 
that  enlarge  one's  life;  so  much  of  the  sun 
upon  one  side  of  it,  so  much  of  the  moon  and 
stars  on  the  other. 


Ill 

SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA 

MOUNT  SHASTA  rises  in  solitary  grandeur 
from  the  edge  of  a  comparatively  low  and 
lightly  sculptured  lava  plain  near  the  northern 
extremity  of  the  Sierra,  and  maintains  a  far 
more  impressive  and  commanding  individual 
ity  than  any  other  mountain  within  the  limits 
of  California.  Go  where  you  may,  within  a 
radius  of  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  miles  or  more, 
there  stands  before  you  the  colossal  cone  of 
Shasta,  clad  in  ice  and  snow,  the  one  grand, 
unmistakable  landmark  —  the  pole-star  of  the 
landscape.  Far  to  the  southward  Mount 
Whitney  lifts  its  granite  summit  four  or  five 
hundred  feet  higher  than  Shasta,  but  it  is 
nearly  snowless  during  the  late  summer,  and 
is  so  feebly  individualized  that  the  traveler 
may  search  for  it  in  vain  among  the  many 
rival  peaks  crowded  along  the  axis  of  the  range 
to  north  and  south  of  it,  which  all  alike  are 
crumbling  residual  masses  brought  into  relief 
in  the  degradation  of  the  general  mass  of  the 
range.  The  highest  point  on  Mount  Shasta, 
as  determined  by  the  State  Geological  Survey, 
is  14,440  feet  above  mean  tide.  That  of  Whit- 

29 


STEEP  TRAILS 

ney,  computed  from  fewer  observations,  is 
about  149,00  feet.  But  inasmuch  as  the  aver 
age  elevation  of  the  plain  out  of  which  Shasta 
rises  is  only  about  four  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea,  while  the  actual  base  of  the  peak  of 
Mount  Whitney  lies  at  an  elevation  of  eleven 
thousand  feet,  the  individual  height  of  the 
former  is  about  two  and  a  half  times  as  great 
as  that  of  the  latter. 

Approaching  Shasta  from  the  south,  one 
obtains  glimpses  of  its  snowy  cone  here  and 
there  through  the  trees  from  the  tops  of  hills 
and  ridges;  but  it  is  not  until  Strawberry 
Valley  is  reached,  where  there  is  a  grand  out- 
opening  of  the  forests,  that  Shasta  is  seen  in 
all  its  glory,  from  base  to  crown  clearly  re 
vealed  with  its  wealth  of  woods  and  waters 
and  fountain  snow,  rejoicing  in  the  bright 
mountain  sky,  and  radiating  beauty  on  all  the 
subject  landscape  like  a  sun»  Standing  in  a 
fringing  thicket  of  purple  spiraea  in  the  imme 
diate  foreground  is  a  smooth  expanse  of  green 
meadow  with  its  meandering  stream,  one  of 
the  smaller  affluents  of  the  Sacramento;  then  a 
zone  of  dark,  close  forest,  its  countless  spires 
of  pine  and  fir  rising  above  one  another  on 
the  swelling  base  of  the  mountain  in  glorious 
array;  and,  over  all,  the  great  white  cone 
sweeping  far  into  the  thin,  keen  sky  —  meadow, 
30 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA 

forest,  and  grand  icy  summit  harmoniously 
blending  and  making  one  sublime  picture 
evenly  balanced. 

The  main  lines  of  the  landscape  are  im 
mensely  bold  and  simple,  and  so  regular  that 
it  needs  all  its  shaggy  wealth  of  woods  and 
chaparral  and  its  finely  tinted  ice  and  snow 
and  brown  jutting  crags  to  keep  it  from  looking 
conventional.  In  general  views  of  the  moun 
tain  three  distinct  zones  may  be  readily  de 
fined.  The  first,  which  may  be  called  the 
Chaparral  Zone,  extends  around  the  base  in  a 
magnificent  sweep  nearly  a  hundred  miles 
in  length  on  its  lower  edge,  and  with  a  breadth 
of  about  seven  miles.  It  is  a  dense  growth  of 
chaparral  from  three  to  six  or  eight  feet  high, 
composed  chiefly  of  manzanita,  cherry,  chin- 
capin,  and  several  species  of  ceanothus,  called 
deerbrush  by  the  hunters,  forming,  when  in 
full  bloom,  one  of  the  most  glorious  flower-beds 
conceivable.  The  continuity  of  this  flowery 
zone  is  interrupted  here  and  there,  especially 
on  the  south  side  of  the  mountain,  by  wide 
swaths  of  coniferous  trees,  chiefly  the  sugar 
and  yellow  pines,  Douglas  spruce,  silver  fir, 
and  incense  cedar,  many  specimens  of  which 
are  two  hundred  feet  high  and  five  to  seven 
feet  in  diameter.  Goldenrods,  asters,  gilias, 
lilies,  and  lupines,  with  many  other  less  con- 

31 


STEEP  TRAILS 

spicuous  plants,  occur  in  warm  sheltered  open 
ings  in  these  lower  woods,  making  charming 
gardens  of  wildness  where  bees  and  butterflies 
are  at  home  and  many  a  shy  bird  and  squirrel. 

The  next  higher  is  the  Fir  Zone,  made  up 
almost  exclusively  of  two  species  of  silver  fir. 
It  is  from  two  to  three  miles  wide,  has  an 
average  elevation  above  the  sea  of  some  six 
thousand  feet  on  its  lower  edge  and  eight  thou 
sand  on  its  upper,  and  is  the  most  regular  and 
best  defined  of  the  three. 

The  Alpine  Zone  has  a  rugged,  straggling 
growth  of  storm-beaten  dwarf  pines  (Pinus 
albicaulis) ,  which  forms  the  upper  edge  of  the 
timber-line.  This  species  reaches  an  elevation 
of  about  nine  thousand  feet,  but  at  this  height 
the  tops  of  the  trees  rise  only  a  few  feet  into 
the  thin  frosty  air,  and  are  closely  pressed  and 
shorn  by  wind  and  snow;  yet  they  hold  on 
bravely  and  put  forth  an  abundance  of  beauti 
ful  purple  flowers  and  produce  cones  and 
seeds.  Down  towards  the  edge  of  the  fir  belt 
they  stand  erect,  forming  small,  well-formed 
trunks,  and  are  associated  with  the  taller  two- 
leafed  and  mountain  pines  and  the  beautiful 
Williamson  spruce.  Bryanthus,  a  beautiful 
flowering  heathwort,  flourishes  a  few  hundred 
feet  above  the  timber-line,  accompanied  with 
kalmia  and  spiraea.  Lichens  enliven  the  faces 

32 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA 

of  the  cliffs  with  their  bright  colors,  and  in 
some  of  the  warmer  nooks  of  the  rocks,  up  to 
a  height  of  eleven  thousand  feet,  there  are  a 
few  tufts  of  dwarf  daisies,  wall-flowers,  and 
penstemons;  but,  notwithstanding  these  bloom 
freely,  they  make  no  appreciable  show  at  a  dis 
tance,  and  the  stretches  of  rough  brown  lava 
beyond  the  storm-beaten  trees  seem  as  bare  of 
vegetation  as  the  great  snow-fields  and  glaciers 
of  the  summit. 

Shasta  is  a  fire-mountain,  an  old  volcano 
gradually  accumulated  and  built  up  into  the 
blue  deep  of  the  sky  by  successive  eruptions  of 
ashes  and  molten  lava  which,  shot  high  in  the 
air  and  falling  in  darkening  showers,  and  flow 
ing  from  chasms  and  craters,  grew  outward  and 
upward  like  the  trunk  of  a  knotty,  bulging  tree. 
Not  in  one  grand  convulsion  was  Shasta  given 
birth,  nor  in  any  one  special  period  of  volcanic 
storm  and  stress,  though  mountains  more  than 
a  thousand  feet  in  height  have  been  cast  up  like 
mole-hills  in  a  night  —  quick  contributions  to 
the  wealth  of  the  landscapes,  and  most  em 
phatic  statements,  on  the  part  of  Nature,  of 
the  gigantic  character  of  the  power  that  dwells 
beneath  the  dull,  dead-looking  surface  of  the 
earth.  But  sections  cut  by  the  glaciers,  dis 
playing  some  of  the  internal  framework  of 
Shasta,  show  that  comparatively  long  periods 

33 


STEEP  TRAILS 

of  quiescence  Intervened  between  many  dis 
tinct  eruptions,  during  which  the  cooling  lavas 
ceased  to  flow,  and  took  their  places  as  perma 
nent  additions  to  the  bulk  of  the  growing 
mountain.  Thus  with  alternate  haste  and 
deliberation  eruption  succeeded  eruption,  until 
Mount  Shasta  surpassed  even  its  present  sub 
lime  height. 

Then  followed  a  strange  contrast.  The  gla 
cial  winter  came  on.  The  sky  that  so  often  had 
been  darkened  with  storms  of  cinders  and 
ashes  and  lighted  by  the  glare  of  volcanic  fires 
was  filled  with  crystal  snow-flowers,  which, 
loading  the  cooling  mountain,  gave  birth  to 
glaciers  that,  uniting  edge  to  edge,  at  length 
formed  one  grand  conical  glacier  —  a  down- 
crawling  mantle  of  ice  upon  a  fountain  of 
smouldering  fire,  crushing  and  grinding  its 
brown,  flinty  lavas,  and  thus  degrading  and 
remodeling  the  entire  mountain  from  summit 
to  base.  How  much  denudation  and  degrada 
tion  has  been  effected  we  have  no  means  of 
determining,  the  porous,  crumbling  rocks 
being  ill  adapted  for  the  reception  and  preser 
vation  of  glacial  inscriptions. 

The  summit  is  now  a  mass  of  ruins,  and  all 
the  finer  striations  have  been  effaced  from  the 
flanks  by  post-glacial  weathering,  while  the 
irregularity  of  its  lavas  as  regards  susceptibility 

34 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA 

to  erosion,  and  the  disturbance  caused  by 
inter-  and  post-glacial  eruptions,  have  ob 
scured  or  obliterated  those  heavier  characters 
of  the  glacial  record  found  so  clearly  in 
scribed  upon  the  granite  pages  of  the  high 
Sierra  between  latitude  36°  30'  and  39°.  This 
much,  however,  is  plain:  that  the  summit  of 
the  mountain  was  considerably  lowered,  and  the 
sides  were  deeply  grooved  and  fluted  while  it 
was  a  center  of  dispersal  for  the  glaciers  of  the 
circumjacent  region.  And  when  at  length  the 
glacial  period  began  to  draw  near  its  close, 
the  ice  mantle  was  gradually  melted  off  around 
the  base  of  the  mountain,  and  in  receding  and 
breaking  up  into  its  present  fragmentary  con 
dition  the  irregular  heaps  and  rings  of  moraine 
matter  were  stored  upon  its  flanks  on  which 
the  forests  are  growing.  The  glacial  erosion  of 
most  of  the  Shasta  lavas  gives  rise  to  detritus 
composed  of  rough  subangular  boulders  of 
moderate  size  and  porous  gravel  and  sand, 
which  yields  freely  to  the  transporting  power 
of  running  water.  Several  centuries  ago  im 
mense  quantities  of  this  lighter  material  were 
washed  down  from  the  higher  slopes  by  a  flood 
of  extraordinary  magnitude,  caused  probably 
by  the  sudden  melting  of  the  ice  and  snow  dur 
ing  an  eruption,  giving  rise  to  the  deposition 
of  conspicuous  delta-like  beds  around  the  base. 

35 


STEEP  TRAILS 

And  it  is  upon  these  flood-beds  of  moraine  soil, 
thus  suddenly  and  simultaneously  laid  down 
and  joined  edge  to  edge,  that  the  flowery  chap 
arral  is  growing. 

Thus,  by  forces  seemingly  antagonistic  and 
destructive,  Nature  accomplishes  her  benefi 
cent  designs  —  now  a  flood  of  fire,  now  a  flood 
of  ice,  now  a  flood  of  water;  and  again  in  the 
fullness  of  time  an  outburst  of  organic  life  — 
forest  and  garden,  with  all  their  wealth  of  fruit 
and  flowers,  the  air  stirred  into  one  universal 
hum  with  rejoicing  insects,  a  milky  way  of 
wings  and  petals,  girdling  the  new-born  moun 
tain  like  a  cloud,  as  if  the  vivifying  sunbeams 
beating  against  its  sides  had  broken  into  a 
foam  of  plant-bloom  and  bees. 

But  with  such  grand  displays  as  Nature  is 
making  here,  how  grand  are  her  reservations, 
bestowed  only  upon  those  who  devotedly  seek 
them!  Beneath  the  smooth  and  snowy  surface 
the  fountain  fires  are  still  aglow,  to  blaze  forth 
afresh  at  their  appointed  times.  The  glaciers, 
looking  so  still  and  small  at  a  distance,  repre 
sented  by  the  artist  with  a  patch  of  white  paint 
laid  on  by  a  single  stroke  of  his  brush,  are  still 
flowing  onward,  unhalting,  with  deep  crys 
tal  currents,  sculpturing  the  mountain  with 
stern,  resistless  energy.  How  many  caves  and 
fountains  that  no  eye  has  yet  seen  lie  with  all 

36 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA 

their  fine  furniture  deep  down  in  the  darkness, 
and  how  many  shy  wild  creatures  are  at  home 
beneath  the  grateful  lights  and  shadows  of  the 
woods,  rejoicing  in  their  fullness  of  perfect  life! 

Standing  on  the  edge  of  the  Strawberry 
Meadows  in  the  sun-days  of  summer,  not  a 
foot  or  feather  or  leaf  seems  to  stir;  and  the 
grand,  towering  mountain  with  all  its  inhab 
itants  appears  in  rest,  calm  as  a  star.  Yet  how 
profound  is  the  energy  ever  in  action,  and  how 
great  is  the  multitude  of  claws  and  teeth,  wings 
and  eyes,  wide-awake  and  at  work  and  shining! 
Going  into  the  blessed  wilderness,  the  blood  of 
the  plants  throbbing  beneath  the  life-giving 
sunshine  seems  to  be  heard  and  felt;  plant- 
growth  goes  on  before  our  eyes,  and  every  tree 
and  bush  and  flower  is  seen  as  a  hive  of  restless 
industry.  The  deeps  of  the  sky  are  mottled 
with  singing  wings  of  every  color  and  tone  — 
clouds  of  brilliant  chrysididse  dancing  and  swirl 
ing  in  joyous  rhythm,  golden-barred  vespidse, 
butterflies,  grating  cicadas  and  jolly  rattling 
grasshoppers  —  fairly  enameling  the  light,  and 
shaking  all  the  air  into  music.  Happy  fellows 
they  are,  every  one  of  them,  blowing  tiny  pipe 
and  trumpet,  plodding  and  prancing,  at  work 
or  at  play. 

Though  winter  holds  the  summit,  Shasta  in 
summer  is  mostly  a  massy,  bossy  mound  of 

37 


STEEP  TRAILS 

flowers  colored  like  the  alpenglow  that  flushes 
the  snow.  There  are  miles  of  wild  roses,  pink 
bells  of  huckleberry  and  sweet  manzanita, 
every  bell  a  honey-cup,  plants  that  tell  of  the 
north  and  of  the  south;  tall  nodding  lilies,  the 
crimson  sarcodes,  rhododendron,  cassiope, 
and  blessed  linnsea;  phlox,  calycanthus,  plum, 
cherry,  cratsegus,  spiraea,  mints,  and  clovers  in 
endless  variety;  ivesia,  larkspur,  and  colum 
bine;  golden  aplopappus,  linosyris,1  bahia, 
wyethia,  arnica,  brodisea,  etc.,  — making  sheets 
and  beds  of  light  edgings  of  bloom  in  lavish 
abundance  for  the  myriads  of  the  air  dependent 
on  their  bounty. 

The  common  honey-bees,  gone  wild  in  this 
sweet  wilderness,  gather  tons  of  honey  into  the 
hollows  of  the  trees  and  rocks,  clambering 
eagerly  through  bramble  and  hucklebloom, 
shaking  the  clustered  bells  of  the  generous 
manzanita,  now  humming  aloft  among  polleny 
willows  and  firs,  now  down  on  the  ashy  ground 
among  small  gilias  and  buttercups,  and  anon 
plunging  into  banks  of  snowy  cherry  and  buck 
thorn.  They  consider  the  lilies  and  roll  into 
them,  pushing  their  blunt  polleny  faces  against 
them  like  babies  on  their  mother's  bosom;  and 
fondly,  too,  with  eternal  love  does  Mother 

1  An  obsolete  genus  of  plants  now  replaced  in  the  main 
by  Chrysothamnus  and  Ericameria.  [Editor.] 

38 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA  ' 

Nature  clasp  her  small  bee-babies  and  suckle 
them,  multitudes  at  once,  on  her  warm  Shasta 
breast.  Besides  the  common  honey-bee  there 
are  many  others  here,  fine,  burly,  mossy  fel 
lows,  such  as  were  nourished  on  the  mountains 
many  a  flowery  century  before  the  advent  of 
the  domestic  species  —  bumble-bees,  mason- 
bees,  carpenter-bees,  and  leaf-cutters.  Butter 
flies,  too,  and  moths  of  every  size  and  pattern; 
some  wide-winged  like  bats,  flapping  slowly 
and  sailing  in  easy  curves ;  others  like  small  fly 
ing  violets  shaking  about  loosely  in  short  zigzag 
flights  close  to  the  flowers,  feasting  in  plenty 
night  and  day. 

Deer  in  great  abundance  come  to  Shasta 
from  the  warmer  foothills  every  spring  to  feed 
in  the  rich,  cool  pastures,  and  bring  forth  their 
young  in  the  ceanothus  tangles  of  the  chapar 
ral  zone,  retiring  again  before  the  snowstorms 
of  winter,  mostly  to  the  southward  and  west 
ward  of  the  mountain.  In  like  manner  the 
wild  sheep  of  the  adjacent  region  seek  the  lofty 
inaccessible  crags  of  the  summit  as  the  snow 
melts,  and  are  driven  down  to  the  lower  spurs 
and  ridges  where  there  is  but  little  snow,  to  the 
north  and  east  of  Shasta. 

Bears,  too,  roam  this  foodful  wilderness, 
feeding  on  grass,  clover,  berries,  nuts,  ant-eggs, 
fish,  flesh,  or  fowl,  —  whatever  comes  in  their 


STEEP  TRAILS 

way,  —  with  but  little  troublesome  discrimina 
tion.  Sugar  and  honey  they  seem  to  like  best 
of  all,  and  they  seek  far  to  find  the  sweets;  but 
when  hard  pushed  by  hunger  they  make  out  to 
gnaw  a  living  from  the  bark  of  trees  and  rot 
ten  logs,  and  might  almost  live  on  clean  lava 
alone. 

Notwithstanding  the  California  bears  have 
had  as  yet  but  little  experience  with  honey 
bees,  they  sometimes  succeed  in  reaching  the 
bountiful  stores  of  these  industrious  gatherers 
and  enjoy  the  feast  with  majestic  relish.  But 
most  honey-bees  in  search  of  a  home  are  wise 
enough  to  make  choice  of  a  hollow  in  a  living 
tree  far  from  the  ground,  whenever  such  can 
be  found.  There  they  are  pretty  secure,  for 
though  the  smaller  brown  and  black  bears 
climb  well,  they  are  unable  to  gnaw  their  way 
into  strong  hives,  while  compelled  to  exert 
themselves  to  keep  from  falling  and  at  the 
same  time  endure  the  stings  of  the  bees  about 
the  nose  and  eyes,  without  having  their  paws 
free  to  brush  them  off.  But  woe  to  the  unfor 
tunates  who  dwell  in  some  prostrate  trunk, 
and  to  the  black  bumble-bees  discovered  in 
their  mossy,  mouselike  nests  in  the  ground. 
With  powerful  teeth  and  claws  these  are  speed 
ily  laid  bare,  and  almost  before  tune  is  given 
for  a  general  buzz  the  bees,  old  and  young, 

40 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA 

larvae,  honey,  stings,  nest,  and  all,  are  devoured 
in  one  ravishing  revel. 

The  antelope  may  still  be  found  in  consider 
able  numbers  to  the  northeastward  of  Shasta, 
but  the  elk,  once  abundant,  have  almost  en 
tirely  gone  from  the  region.  The  smaller  ani 
mals,  such  as  the  wolf,  the  various  foxes,  wild 
cats,  coon,  squirrels,  and  the  curious  wood  rat 
that  builds  large  brush  huts,  abound  in  all  the 
wilder  places;  and  the  beaver,  otter,  mink,  etc., 
may  still  be  found  along  the  sources  of  the 
rivers.  The  blue  grouse  and  mountain  quail 
are  plentiful  in  the  woods  and  the  sage-hen  on 
the  plains  about  the  northern  base  of  the  moun 
tain,  while  innumerable  smaller  birds  enliven 
and  sweeten  every  thicket  and  grove. 

There  are  at  least  five  classes  of  human  in 
habitants  about  the  Shasta  region:  the  Indi 
ans,  now  scattered,  few  in  numbers  and  miser 
ably  demoralized,  though  still  offering  some 
rare  specimens  of  savage  manhood;  miners  and 
prospectors,  found  mostly  to  the  north  and 
west  of  the  mountain,  since  the  region  about 
its  base  is  overflowed  with  lava;  cattle-raisers, 
mostly  on  the  open  plains  to  the  northeastward 
and  around  the  Klamath  Lakes;  hunters  and 
trappers,  where  the  woods  and  waters  are 
wildest;  and  farmers,  in  Shasta  Valley  on  the 

41 


STEEP  TRAILS 

north  side  of  the  mountain,  wheat,  apples,  mel 
ons,  berries,  all  the  best  production  of  farm  and 
garden  growing  and  ripening  there  at  the  foot  of 
the  great  white  cone,  which  seems  at  times  dur 
ing  changing  storms  ready  to  fall  upon  them  — 
the  most  sublime  farm  scenery  imaginable. 

The  Indians  of  the  McCloud  River  that 
have  come  under  my  observation  differ  con 
siderably  in  habits  and  features  from  the  Dig 
gers  and  other  tribes  of  the  foothills  and  plains, 
and  also  from  the  Pah  Utes  and  Modocs.  They 
live  chiefly  on  salmon.  They  seem  to  be  closely 
related  to  the  Tlingits  of  Alaska,  Washington, 
and  Oregon,  and  may  readily  have  found  their 
way  here  by  passing  from  stream  to  stream  in 
which  salmon  abound.  They  have  much  bet 
ter  features  than  the  Indians  of  the  plains,  and 
are  rather  wide  awake,  speculative  and  ambi 
tious  in  their  way,  and  garrulous,  like  the 
natives  of  the  northern  coast. 

Before  the  Modoc  War  they  lived  in  dread 
of  the  Modocs,  a  tribe  living  about  the  Kla- 
math  Lake  and  the  Lava  Beds,  who  were  in  the 
habit  of  crossing  the  low  Sierra  divide  past  the 
base  of  Shasta  on  freebooting  excursions,  steal 
ing  wives,  fish,  and  weapons  from  the  Pitts  and 
McClouds.  Mothers  would  hush  their  children 
by  telling  them  that  the  Modocs  would  catch 
them. 

42 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA  ^ 

During  my  stay  at  the  Government  fish- 
hatching  station  on  the  McCloud  I  was  accom 
panied  in  my  walks  along  the  river-bank  by  a 
McCloud  boy  about  ten  years  of  age,  a  bright, 
inquisitive  fellow,  who  gave  me  the  Indian 
names  of  the  birds  and  plants  that  we  met. 
The  water-ousel  he  knew  well  and  he  seemed 
to  like  the  sweet  singer,  which  he  called  "Sus- 
sinny."  He  showed  me  how  strips  of  the  stems 
of  the  beautiful  maidenhair  fern  were  used  to 
adorn  baskets  with  handsome  brown  bands, 
and  pointed  out  several  plants  good  to  eat, 
particularly  the  large  saxifrage  growing  abun 
dantly  along  the  river-margin.  Once  I  rushed 
suddenly  upon  him  to  see  if  he  would  be  fright 
ened;  but  he  unflinchingly  held  his  ground, 
struck  a  grand  heroic  attitude,  and  shouted, 
"Me  no  'fraid;  me  Modoc!" 

Mount  Shasta,  so  far  as  I  have  seen,  has 
never  been  the  home  of  Indians,  not  even  their 
hunting-ground  to  any  great  extent,  above  the 
lower  slopes  of  the  base.  They  are  said  to  be 
afraid  of  fire-mountains  and  geyser-basins  as 
being  the  dwelling-places  of  dangerously  power 
ful  and  unmanageable  gods.  However,  it  is 
food  and  their  relations  to  other  tribes  that 
mainly  control  the  movements  of  Indians;  and 
here  their  food  was  mostly  on  the  lower  slopes, 
with  nothing  except  the  wild  sheep  to  tempt 

43 


STEEP  TRAILS 

them  higher.  Even  these  were  brought  within 
reach  without  excessive  climbing  during  the 
storms  of  winter. 

On  the  north  side  of  Shasta,  near  Sheep 
Rock,  there  is  a  long  cavern,  sloping  to  the 
northward,  nearly  a  mile  in  length,  thirty  or 
forty  feet  wide,  and  fifty  feet  or  more  in  height, 
regular  in  form  and  direction  like  a  railroad 
tunnel,  and  probably  formed  by  the  flowing 
away  of  a  current  of  lava  after  the  harden 
ing  of  the  surface.  At  the  mouth  of  this  cave, 
where  the  light  and  shelter  is  good,  I  found 
many  of  the  heads  and  horns  of  the  wild  sheep, 
and  the  remains  of  campfires,  no  doubt  those 
of  Indian  hunters  who  in  stormy  weather  had 
camped  there  and  feasted  after  the  fatigues  of 
the  chase.  A  wild  picture  that  must  have 
formed  on  a  dark  night  —  the  glow  of  the  fire, 
the  circle  of  crouching  savages  around  it  seen 
through  the  smoke,  the  dead  game,  and  the 
weird  darkness  and  half -darkness  of  the  walls 
of  the  cavern,  a  picture  of  cave-dwellers  at 
home  in  the  stone  age ! 

Interest  in  hunting  is  almost  universal,  so 
deeply  is  it  rooted  as  an  inherited  instinct  ever 
ready  to  rise  and  make  itself  known.  Fine 
scenery  may  not  stir  a  fiber  of  mind  or  body, 
but  how  quick  and  how  true  is  the  excitement 
of  the  pursuit  of  game!  Then  up  flames  the 

44 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA 

slumbering  volcano  of  ancient  wildness,  all 
that  has  been  done  by  church  and  school 
through  centuries  of  cultivation  is  for  the  mo 
ment  destroyed,  and  the  decent  gentleman  or 
devout  saint  becomes  a  howling,  bloodthirsty, 
demented  savage.  It  is  not  long  since  we  all 
were  cave-men  and  followed  game  for  food  as 
truly  as  wildcat  or  wolf,  and  the  long  repression 
of  civilization  seems  to  make  the  rebound  to 
savage  love  of  blood  all  the  more  violent.  This 
frenzy,  fortunately,  does  not  last  long  in  its 
most  exaggerated  form,  and  after  a  season  of 
wildness  refined  gentlemen  from  cities  are  not 
more  cruel  than  hunters  and  trappers  who  kill 
for  a  living. 

Dwelling  apart  in  the  depths  of  the  woods 
are  the  various  kinds  of  mountaineers,  —  hunt 
ers,  prospectors,  and  the  like,  —  rare  men, 
" queer  characters,"  and  well  worth  knowing. 
Their  cabins  are  located  with  reference  to  game 
and  the  ledges  to  be  examined,  and  are  con 
structed  almost  as  simply  as  those  of  the  wood 
rats  made  of  sticks  laid  across  each  other  with 
out  compass  or  square.  But  they  afford  good 
shelter  from  storms,  and  so  are  " square"  with 
the  need  of  their  builders.  These  men  as  a  class 
are  singularly  fine  in  manners,  though  their 
faces  may  be  scarred  and  rough  like  the  bark 
of  trees.  On  entering  their  cabins  you  will 


STEEP  TRAILS 

promptly  be  placed  on  your  good  behavior, 
and,  your  wants  being  perceived  with  quick 
insight,  complete  hospitality  will  be  offered 
for  body  and  mind  to  the  extent  of  the  larder. 

These  men  know  the  mountains  far  and  near, 
and  their  thousand  voices,  like  the  leaves  of  a 
book.  They  can  tell  where  the  deer  may  be 
found  at  any  time  of  year  or  day,  and  what 
they  are  doing;  and  so  of  all  the  other  furred 
and  feathered  people  they  meet  in  their  walks; 
and  they  can  send  a  thought  to  its  mark  as  well 
as  a  bullet.  The  aims  of  such  people  are  not 
always  the  highest,  yet  how  brave  and  manly 
and  clean  are  their  lives  compared  with  too 
many  in  crowded  towns  mildewed  and  dwarfed 
in  disease  and  crime!  How  fine  a  chance  is  here 
to  begin  life  anew  in  the  free  fountains  and  sky- 
lands  of  Shasta,  where  it  is  so  easy  to  live  and 
to  die!  The  future  of  the  hunter  is  likely  to  be 
a  good  one;  no  abrupt  change  about  it,  only 
a  passing  from  wilderness  to  wilderness,  from 
one  high  place  to  another. 

Now  that  the  railroad  has  been  built  up  the 
Sacramento,  everybody  with  money  may  go 
to  Mount  Shasta,  the  weak  as  well  as  the 
strong,  fine-grained,  succulent  people,  whose 
legs  have  never  ripened,  as  well  as  sinewy 
mountaineers  seasoned  long  in  the  weather. 
This,  surely,  is  not  the  best  way  of  going  to 

46 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA 

the  mountains,  yet  it  is  better  than  staying 
below.  Many  still  small  voices  will  not  be 
heard  in  the  noisy  rush  and  din,  suggestive  of 
going  to  the  sky  in  a  chariot  of  fire  or  a  whirl 
wind,  as  one  is  shot  to  the  Shasta  mark  in  a 
booming  palace-car  cartridge;  up  the  rocky 
canon,  skimming  the  foaming  river,  above  the 
level  reaches,  above  the  dashing  spray  —  fine 
exhilarating  translation,  yet  a  pity  to  go  so 
fast  in  a  blur,  where  so  much  might  be  seen 
and  enjoyed. 

The  mountains  are  fountains  not  only  of 
rivers  and  fertile  soil,  but  of  men.  Therefore 
we  are  all,  in  some  sense,  mountaineers,  and 
going  to  the  mountains  is  going  home.  Yet 
how  many  are  doomed  to  toil  in  town  shadows 
while  the  white  mountains  beckon  all  along 
the  horizon !  Up  the  canon  to  Shasta  would  be 
a  cure  for  all  care.  But  many  on  arrival  seem 
at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do  with  themselves, 
and  seek  shelter  in  the  hotel,  as  if  that  were 
the  Shasta  they  had  come  for.  Others  never 
leave  the  rail,  content  with  the  window  views, 
and  cling  to  the  comforts  of  the  sleeping-car 
like  blind  mice  to  their  mothers.  Many  are 
sick  and  have  been  dragged  to  the  healing 
wilderness  unwillingly  for  body-good  alone. 
Were  the  parts  of  the  human  machine  detach 
able  like  Yankee  inventions,  how  strange  would 

47 


STEEP  TRAILS 

be  the  gatherings  on  the  mountains  of  pieces 
of  people  out  of  repair! 

How  sadly  unlike  the  whole-hearted  ongoing 
of  the  seeker  after  gold  is  this  partial,  compul 
sory  mountaineering!  —  as  if  the  mountain 
treasuries  contained  nothing  better  than  gold! 
Up  the  mountains  they  go,  high-heeled  and 
high-hatted,  laden  like  Christian  with  morti 
fications  and  mortgages  of  divers  sorts  and 
degrees,  some  suffering  from  the  sting  of  bad 
bargains,  others  exulting  in  good  ones;  hunters 
and  fishermen  with  gun  and  rod  and  leggins; 
blythe  and  jolly  troubadours  to  whom  all 
Shasta  is  romance;  poets  singing  their  prayers; 
the  weak  and  the  strong,  unable  or  unwilling 
to  bear  mental  taxation.  But,  whatever  the 
motive,  all  will  be  in  some  measure  benefited. 
None  may  wholly  escape  the  good  of  Nature, 
however  imperfectly  exposed  to  her  blessings. 
The  minister  will  not  preach  a  perfectly  flat 
and  sedimentary  sermon  after  climbing  a  snowy 
peak;  and  the  fair  play  and  tremendous  impar 
tiality  of  Nature,  so  tellingly  displayed,  will 
surely  affect  the  after  pleadings  of  the  lawyer. 
Fresh  air  at  least  will  get  into  everybody,  and 
the  cares  of  mere  business  will  be  quenched 
like  the  fires  of  a  sinking  ship. 

Possibly  a  branch  railroad  may  some  time  be 
built  to  the  summit  of  Mount  Shasta  like  the 

48 


AT  SHASTA  SODA  SPRINGS 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA  \ 

road  on  Mount  Washington.  In  the  mean  tune 
tourists  are  dropped  at  Sisson's,  about  twelve 
miles  from  the  summit,  whence  as  head 
quarters  they  radiate  in  every  direction  to  the 
so-called  "points  of  interest ";  sauntering 
about  the  flowery  fringes  of  the  Strawberry 
Meadows,  bathing  hi  the  balm  of  the  woods, 
scrambling,  fishing,  hunting;  riding  about 
Castle  Lake,  the  McCloud  River,  Soda  Springs, 
Big  Spring,  deer  pastures,  and  elsewhere.  Some 
demand  bears,  and  make  excited  inquiries  con 
cerning  their  haunts,  how  many  there  might 
be  altogether  on  the  mountain,  and  whether 
they  are  grizzly,  brown,  or  black.  Others 
shout,  "  Excelsior,"  and  make  off  at  once  for 
the  upper  snow-fields.  Most,  however,  are  con 
tent  with  comparatively  level  ground  and  mod 
erate  distances,  gathering  at  the  hotel  every 
evening  laden  with  trophies  —  great  sheaves 
of  flowers,  cones  of  various  trees,  cedar  and 
fir  branches  covered  with  yellow  lichens,  and 
possibly  a  fish  or  two,  or  quail,  or  grouse. 

But  the  heads  of  deer,  antelope,  wild  sheep, 
and  bears  are  conspicuously  rare  or  altogether 
wanting  in  tourist  collections  in  the  "  paradise 
of  hunters."  There  is  a  grand  comparing  of 
notes  and  adventures.  Most  are  exhilarated 
and  happy,  though  complaints  may  occasion 
ally  be  heard  —  "The  mountain  does  not  look 

49 


STEEP  TRAILS 

so  very  high  after  all,  nor  so  very  white;  the 
snow  is  in  patches  like  rags  spread  out  to  dry," 
reminding  one  of  Sydney  Smith's  joke  against 

Jeffrey,  "D n  the  Solar  System;  bad  light, 

planets  too  indistinct."  But  far  the  greater 
number  are  in  good  spirits,  showing  the  influ 
ence  of  holiday  enjoyment  and  mountain  air. 
Fresh  roses  come  to  cheeks  that  long  have  been 
pale,  and  sentiment  often  begins  to  blossom 
under  the  new  inspiration. 

The  Shasta  region  may  be  reserved  as  a 
national  park,  with  special  reference  to  the 
preservation  of  its  fine  forests  and  game.  This 
should  by  all  means  be  done;  but,  as  far  as 
game  is  concerned,  it  is  hi  little  danger  from 
tourists,  notwithstanding  many  of  them  carry 
guns,  and  are  in  some  sense  hunters.  Going  in 
noisy  groups,  and  with  guns  so  shining,  they 
are  oftentimes  confronted  by  inquisitive  Doug 
las  squirrels,  and  are  thus  given  opportunities 
for  shooting;  but  the  larger  animals  retire  at 
their  approach  and  seldom  are  seen.  Other 
gun  people,  too  wise  or  too  lifeless  to  make 
much  noise,  move  slowly  along  the  trails  and 
about  the  open  spots  of  the  woods,  like  be 
numbed  beetles  in  a  snowdrift.  Such  hunters 
are  themselves  hunted  by  the  animals,  which 
in  perfect  safety  follow  them  out  of  curiosity. 

During  the  bright  days  of  midsummer  the 

50 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA 

ascent  of  Shasta  is  only  a  long,  safe  saunter, 
without  fright  or  nerve-strain,  or  even  serious 
fatigue,  to  those  in  sound  health.  Setting  out 
from  Sisson's  on  horseback,  accompanied  by  a 
guide  leading  a  pack-animal  with  provisions, 
blankets,  and  other  necessaries,  you  follow  a 
trail  that  leads  up  to  the  edge  of  the  timber- 
line,  where  you  camp  for  the  night,  eight  or 
ten  miles  from  the  hotel,  at  an  elevation  of 
about  ten  thousand  feet.  The  next  day,  rising 
early,  you  may  push  on  to  the  summit  and 
return  to  Sisson's.  But  it  is  better  to  spend 
more  tune  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  grand  scen 
ery  on  the  summit  and  about  the  head  of  the 
Whitney  Glacier,  pass  the  second  night  in 
camp,  and  return  to  Sisson's  on  the  third  day. 
Passing  around  the  margin  of  the  meadows  and 
on  through  the  zones  of  the  forest,  you  will 
have  good  opportunities  to  get  ever-changing 
views  of  the  mountain  and  its  wealth  of  crea 
tures  that  bloom  and  breathe. 

The  woods  differ  but  little  from  those  that 
clothe  the  mountains  to  the  southward,  the 
trees  being  slightly  closer  together  and  gener 
ally  not  quite  so  large,  marking  the  incipient 
change  from  the  open  sunny  forests  of  the 
Sierra  to  the  dense  damp  forests  of  the  north 
ern  coast,  where  a  squirrel  may  travel  in  the 
branches  of  the  thick-set  trees  hundreds  of 

51 


STEEP  TRAILS 

miles  without  touching  the  ground.  Around 
the  upper  belt  of  the  forest  you  may  see  gaps 
where  the  ground  has  been  cleared  by  ava 
lanches  of  snow,  thousands  of  tons  in  weight, 
which,  descending  with  grand  rush  and  roar, 
brush  the  trees  from  their  paths  like  so  many 
fragile  shrubs  or  grasses. 

At  first  the  ascent  is  very  gradual.  The 
mountain  begins  to  leave  the  plain  in  slopes 
scarcely  perceptible,  measuring  from  two  to 
three  degrees.  These  are  continued  by  easy 
gradations  mile  after  mile  all  the  way  to  the 
truncated,  crumbling  summit,  where  they 
attain  a  steepness  of  twenty  to  twenty-five 
degrees.  The  grand  simplicity  of  these  lines  is 
partially  interrupted  on  the  north  subordinate 
cone  that  rises  from  the  side  of  the  main  cone 
about  three  thousand  feet  from  the  summit. 
This  side  cone,  past  which  your  way  to  the 
summit  lies,  was  active  after  the  breaking-up 
of  the  main  ice-cap  of  the  glacial  period,  as 
shown  by  the  comparatively  unwasted  crater 
in  which  it  terminates  and  by  streams  of  fresh- 
looking,  unglaciated  lava  that  radiate  from  it 
as  a  center. 

The  main  summit  is  about  a  mile  and  a  half 
in  diameter  from  southwest  to  northeast,  and 
is  nearly  covered  with  snow  and  n£v6,  bounded 
by  crumbling  peaks  and  ridges,  among  which 

52 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA 

we  look  in  vain  for  any  sure  plan  of  an  ancient 
crater.  The  extreme  summit  is  situated  on  the 
southern  end  of  a  narrow  ridge  that  bounds 
the  general  summit  on  the  east.  Viewed  from 
the  north,  it  appears  as  an  irregular  blunt  point 
about  ten  feet  high,  and  is  fast  disappearing 
before  the  stormy  atmospheric  action  to  which 
it  is  subjected. 

At  the  base  of  the  eastern  ridge,  just  be 
low  the  extreme  summit,  hot  sulphurous  gases 
and  vapor  escape  with  a  hissing,  bubbling 
noise  from  a  fissure  in  the  lava.  Some  of  the 
many  small  vents  cast  up  a  spray  of  clear  hot 
water,  which  falls  back  repeatedly  until  wasted 
in  vapor.  The  steam  and  spray  seem  to  be 
produced  simply  by  melting  snow  coming  in 
the  way  of  the  escaping  gases,  while  the  gases 
are  evidently  derived  from  the  heated  interior 
of  the  mountain,  and  may  be  regarded  as  the 
last  feeble  expression  of  the  mighty  power  that 
lifted  the  entire  mass  of  the  mountain  from  the 
volcanic  depths  far  below  the  surface  of  the 
plain. 

The  view  from  the  summit  in  clear  weather 
extends  to  an  immense  distance  in  every  direc 
tion.  Southeastward,  the  low  volcanic  portion 
of  the  Sierra  is  seen  like  a  map,  both  flanks  as 
well  as  the  crater-dotted  axis,  as  far  as  Lassen's1 

, l  An  early  local  name  for  what  is  now  known  as  Lassen 
63 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Butte,  a  prominent  landmark  and  an  old  vol 
cano  like  Shasta,  between  ten  and  eleven  thou 
sand  feet  high,  and  distant  about  sixty  miles. 
Some  of  the  higher  summit  peaks  near  Inde 
pendence  Lake,  one  hundred  and  eighty  miles 
away,  are  at  times  distinctly  visible.  Far  to 
the  north,  in  Oregon,  the  snowy  volcanic  cones 
of  Mounts  Pitt,  Jefferson,  and  the  Three  Sis 
ters  rise  in  clear  relief,  like  majestic  monu 
ments,  above  the  dim  dark  sea  of  the  northern 
woods.  To  the  northeast  lie  the  Rhett  and 
Klamath  Lakes,  the  Lava  Beds,  and  a  grand 
display  of  hill  andm  mountain  and  gray  rocky 
plains.  The  Scott,  Siskiyou,  and  Trinity  Moun 
tains  rise  in  long,  compact  waves  to  the  west 
and  southwest,  and  the  valley  of  the  Sacra 
mento  and  the  coast  mountains,  with  their 
marvelous  wealth  of  woods  and  waters,  are 
seen ;  while  close  around  the  base  of  the  moun 
tain  lie  the  beautiful  Shasta  Valley,  Strawberry 
Valley,  Huckleberry  Valley,  and  many  others, 
with  the  headwaters  of  the  Shasta,  Sacramento, 
and  McCloud  Rivers.  Some  observers  claim 
to  have  seen  the  ocean  from  the  summit  of 
Shasta,  but  I  have  not  yet  been  so  fortunate. 
The  Cinder  Cone  near  Lassen's  Butte  is 

Peak,  or  Mt.  Lassen.  In  1914  its  volcanic  activity  was  re 
sumed  with  spectacular  eruptions  of  ashes,  steam,  and  gas. 
[Editor.] 

54 


SUMMER  DAYS  AT  MOUNT  SHASTA 

remarkable  as  being  the  scene  of  the  most 
recent  volcanic  eruption  in  the  range.  It  is 
a  symmetrical  truncated  cone  covered  with 
gray  cinders  and  ashes,  with  a  regular  crater 
in  which  a  few  pines  an  inch  or  two  in  diameter 
are  growing.  It  stands  between  two  small  lakes 
which  previous  to  the  last  eruption,  when  the 
cone  was  built,  formed  one  lake.  From  near 
the  base  of  the  cone  a  flood  of  extremely  rough 
black  vesicular  lava  extends  across  what  was 
once  a  portion  of  the  bottom 'of  the  lake  into 
the  forest  of  yellow  pine. 

This  lava-flow  seems  to  have  been  poured 
out  during  the  same  eruption  that  gave  birth 
to  the  cone,  cutting  the  lake  in  two,  flowing  a 
little  way  into  the  woods  and  overwhelming 
the  trees  in  its  way,  the  ends  of  some  of  the 
charred  trunks  still  being  visible,  projecting 
from  beneath  the  advanced  snout  of  the  flow 
where  it  came  to  rest;  while  the  floor  of  the  for 
est  for  miles  around  is  so  thickly  strewn  with 
loose  cinders  that  walking  is  very  fatiguing. 
The  Pitt  River  Indians  tell  of  a  fearful  time 
of  darkness,  probably  due  to  this  eruption, 
when  the  sky  was  filled  with  falling  cinders 
which,  as  they  thought,  threatened  every  living 
creature  with  destruction,  and  say  that  when 
at  length  the  sun  appeared  through  the  gloom 
it  was  red  like  blood. 

55 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Less  recent  craters  in  great  numbers  dot  the 
adjacent  region,  some  with  lakes  in  their 
throats,  some  overgrown  with  trees,  others 
nearly  bare  —  telling  monuments  of  Nature's 
mountain  fires  so  often  lighted  throughout  the 
northern  Sierra.  And,  standing  on  the  top  of 
icy  Shasta,  the  mightiest  fire-monument  of 
them  all,  we  can  hardly  fail  to  look  forward  to 
the  blare  and  glare  of  its  next  eruption  and 
wonder  whether  it  is  nigh.  Elsewhere  men 
have  planted  gardens  and  vineyards  in  the 
craters  of  volcanoes  quiescent  for  ages,  and 
almost  without  warning  have  been  hurled  into 
the  sky.  More  than  a  thousand  years  of  pro 
found  calm  have  been  known  to  intervene 
between  two  violent  eruptions.  Seventeen  cen 
turies  intervened  between  two  consecutive 
eruptions  on  the  island  of  Ischia.  Few  volca 
noes  continue  permanently  in  eruption.  Like 
gigantic  geysers,  spouting  hot  stone  instead  of 
hot  water,  they  work  and  sleep,  and  we  have 
no  sure  means  of  knowing  whether  they  are 
only  sleeping  or  dead. 


IV 

A  PERILOUS  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA *S  SUMMIT 

TOWARD  the  end  of  summer,  after  a  light, 
open  winter,  one  may  reach  the  summit  of 
Mount  Shasta  without  passing  over  much 
snow,  by  keeping  on  the  crest  of  a  long  narrow 
ridge,  mostly  bare,  that  extends  from  near  the 
camp-ground  at  the  timber-line.  But  on  my 
first  excursion  to  the  summit  the  whole  moun 
tain,  down  to  its  low  swelling  base,  was 
smoothly  laden  with  loose  fresh  snow,  present 
ing  a  most  glorious  mass  of  winter  mountain 
scenery,  in  the  midst  of  which  I  scrambled  and 
reveled  or  lay  snugly  snowbound,  enjoying 
the  fertile  clouds  and  the  snow-bloom  in  all 
their  growing,  drifting  grandeur. 

I  had  walked  from  Redding,  sauntering  lei 
surely  from  station  to  station  along  the  old 
Oregon  stage-road,  the  better  to  see  the  rocks 
and  plants,  birds  and  people,  by  the  way,  trac 
ing  the  rushing  Sacramento  to  its  fountains 
around  icy  Shasta.  The  first  rains  had  fallen 
on  the  lowlands,  and  the  first  snows  on  the 
mountains,  and  everything  was  fresh  and 
bracing,  while  an  abundance  of  balmy  sun 
shine  filled  all  the  noonday  hours.  It  was  the 

57 


STEEP  TRAILS 

calm  afterglow  that  usually  succeeds  the  first 
storm  of  the  winter.  I  met  many  of  the  birds 
that  had  reared  their  young  and  spent  their 
summer  in  the  Shasta  woods  and  chaparral. 
They  were  then  on  their  way  south  to  their 
winter  homes,  leading  their  young  full-fledged 
and  about  as  large  and  strong  as  the  parents. 
Squirrels,  dry  and  elastic  after  the  storms,  were 
busy  about  their  stores  of  pine  nuts,  and  the 
latest  goldenrods  were  still  in  bloom,  though  it 
was  now  past  the  middle  of  October.  The  grand 
color  glow  —  the  autumnal  jubilee  of  ripe 
leaves  —  was  past  prime,  but,  freshened  by 
the  rain,  was  still  making  a  fine  show  along  the 
banks  of  the  river  and  in  the  ravines  and  the 
dells  of  the  smaller  streams. 

At  the  salmon-hatching  establishment  on 
the  McCloud  River  I  halted  a  week  to  examine 
the  limestone  belt,  grandly  developed  there, 
to  learn  what  I  could  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
river  and  its  banks,  and  to  give  tune  for  the 
fresh  snow  that  I  knew  had  fallen  on  the 
mountain  to  settle  somewhat,  with  a  view  to 
making  the  ascent.  A  pedestrian  on  these 
mountain  roads,  especially  so  late  in  the  year, 
is  sure  to  excite  curiosity,  and  many  were  the 
interrogations  concerning  my  ramble.  When 
I  said  that  I  was  simply  taking  a  walk,  and 
that  icy  Shasta  was  my  mark.  I  was  invariably 

58 


A  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUMMIT 

admonished  that  I  had  come  on  a  dangerous 
quest.  The  time  was  far  too  late,  the  snow  was 
too  loose  and  deep  to  climb,  and  I  should  be 
lost  in  drifts  and  slides.  When  I  hinted  that 
new  snow  was  beautiful  and  storms  not  so  bad 
as  they  were  called,  my  advisers  shook  their 
heads  in  token  of  superior  knowledge  and  de 
clared  the  ascent  of  "Shasta  Butte"  through 
loose  snow  impossible.  Nevertheless,  before 
noon  of  the  second  of  November  I  was  in  the 
frosty  azure  of  the  utmost  summit. 

When  I  arrived  at  Sisson's  everything  was 
quiet.  The  last  of  the  summer  visitors  had 
flitted  long  before,  and  the  deer  and  bears  also 
were  beginning  to  seek  their  winter  homes.  My 
barometer  and  the  sighing  winds  and  filmy, 
half-transparent  clouds  that  dimmed  the  sun 
shine  gave  notice  of  the  approach  of  another 
storm,  and  I  was  in  haste  to  be  off  and  get 
myself  established  somewhere  in  the  midst  of 
it,  whether  the  summit  was  to  be  attained  or 
not.  Sisson,  who  is  a  mountaineer,  speedily 
fitted  me  out  for  storm  or  calm  as  only  a 
mountaineer  could,  with  warm  blankets  and  a 
week's  provisions  so  generous  in  quantity  and 
kind  that  they  easily  might  have  been  made  to 
last  a  month  in  case  of  my  being  closely  snow 
bound.  Well  I  knew  the  weariness  of  snow- 
climbing,  and  the  frosts,  and  the  dangers  of 


STEEP  TRAILS 

mountaineering  so  late  in  the  year;  therefore  I 
could  not  ask  a  guide  to  go  with  me,  even  had 
one  been  willing.  All  I  wanted  was  to  have 
blankets  and  provisions  deposited  as  far  up  in 
the  timber  as  the  snow  would  permit  a  pack- 
animal  to  go.  There  I  could  build  a  storm 
nest  and  lie  warm,  and  make  raids  up  and 
around  the  mountain  in  accordance  with  the 
weather. 

Setting  out  on  the  afternoon  of  November 
first,  with  Jerome  Fay,  mountaineer  and  guide, 
in  charge  of  the  animals,  I  was  soon  plodding 
wearily  upward  through  the  muffled  winter 
woods,  the  snow  of  course  growing  steadily 
deeper  and  looser,  so  that  we  had  to  break  a 
trail.  The  animals  began  to  get  discouraged, 
and  after  night  and  darkness  came  on  they  be 
came  entangled  in  a  bed  of  rough  lava,  where, 
breaking  through  four  or  five  feet  of  mealy 
snow,  their  feet  were  caught  between  angular 
boulders.  Here  they  were  in  danger  of  being 
lost,  but  after  we 'had  removed  packs  and  sad 
dles  and  assisted  their  efforts  with  ropes,  they 
all  escaped  to  the  side  of  a  ridge  about  a  thou 
sand  feet  below  the  timber-line. 

To  go  farther  was  out  of  the  question,  so  we 
were  compelled  to  camp  as  best  we  could.  A 
pitch-pine  fire  speedily  changed  the  tempera 
ture  and  shed  a  blaze  of  light  on  the  wild  lava- 

60 


A  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUMMIT 

slope  and  the  straggling  storm-bent  pines 
around  us.  Melted  snow  answered  for  coffee, 
and  we  had  plenty  of  venison  to  roast.  Toward 
midnight  I  rolled  myself  in  my  blankets,  slept 
an  hour  and  a  half,  arose  and  ate  more  venison, 
tied  two  days'  provisions  to  my  belt,  and  set 
out  for  the  summit,  hoping  to  reach  it  ere  the 
coming  storm  should  fall.  Jerome  accompanied 
me  a  little  distance  above  camp  and  indicated 
the  way  as  well  as  he  could  in  the  darkness. 
He  seemed  loath  to  leave  me,  but,  being  reas 
sured  that  I  was  at  home  and  required  no  care, 
he  bade  me  good-bye  and  returned  to  camp, 
ready  to  lead  his  animals  down  the  mountain 
at  daybreak. 

After  I  was  above  the  dwarf  pines,  it  was 
fine  practice  pushing  up  the  broad  unbroken 
slopes  of  snow,  alone  in  the  solemn  silence  of 
the  night.  Half  the  sky  was  clouded;  in  the 
other  half  the  stars  sparkled  icily  in  the  keen, 
frosty  air;  while  everywhere  the  glorious  wealth 
of  snow  fell  away  from  the  summit  of  the  cone 
in  flowing  folds,  more  extensive  and  continuous 
than  any  I  had  ever  seen  before.  When  day 
dawned  the  clouds  were  crawling  slowly  and 
becoming  more  massive,  but  gave  no  intima 
tion  of  immediate  danger,  and  I  pushed  on 
faithfully,  though  holding  myself  well  in  hand, 
ready  to  return  to  the  timber;  for  it  was  easy 

61 


STEEP  TRAILS 

to  see  that  the  storm  was  not  far  off.  The 
mountain  rises  ten  thousand  feet  above  the 
general  level  of  the  country,  in  blank  exposure 
to  the  deep  upper  currents  of  the  sky,  and  no 
labyrinth  of  peaks  and  canons  I  had  ever  been 
in  seemed  to  me  so  dangerous  as  these  immense 
slopes,  bare  against  the  sky. 

The  frost  was  intense,  and  drifting  snow-dust 
made  breathing  at  times  rather  difficult.  The 
snow  was  as  dry  as  meal,  and  the  finer  particles 
drifted  freely,  rising  high  in  the  air,  while  the 
larger  portions  of  the  crystals  rolled  like  sand. 
I  frequently  sank  to  my  armpits  between 
buried  blocks  of  loose  lava,  but  generally  only 
to  my  knees.  When  tired  with  walking  I  still 
wallowed  slowly  upward  on  all  fours.  The 
steepness  of  the  slope  —  thirty-five  degrees  in 
some  places  —  made  any  kind  of  progress 
fatiguing,  while  small  avalanches  were  being 
constantly  set  in  motion  in  the  steepest  places. 
But  the  bracing  air  and  the  sublime  beauty  of 
the  snowy  expanse  thrilled  every  nerve  and 
made  absolute  exhaustion  impossible.  I  seemed 
to  be  walking  and  wallowing  in  a  cloud;  but, 
holding  steadily  onward,  by  half-past  ten 
o'clock  I  had  gained  the  highest  summit. 

I  held  my  commanding  foothold  in  the  sky 
for  two  hours,  gazing  on  the  glorious  landscapes 
spread  maplike  around  the  immense  horizon, 

62 


A  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUMMIT 

and  tracing  the  outlines  of  the  ancient  lava- 
streams  extending  far  into  the  surrounding 
plains,  and  the  pathways  of  vanished  glaciers 
of  which  Shasta  had  been  the  center.  But,  as 
I  had  left  my  coat  in  camp  for  the  sake  of  hav 
ing  my  limbs  free  in  climbing,  I  soon  was  cold. 
The  wind  increased  in  violence,  raising  the 
snow  in  magnificent  drifts  that  were  drawn  out 
in  the  form  of  wavering  banners  glowing  in  the 
sun.  Toward  the  end  of  my  stay  a  succession 
of  small  clouds  struck  against  the  summit  rocks 
like  drifting  icebergs,  darkening  the  air  as  they 
passed,  and  producing  a  chill  as  definite  and 
sudden  as  if  ice-water  had  been  dashed  in  my 
face.  This  is  the  kind  of  cloud  in  which  snow- 
flowers  grow,  and  I  turned  and  fled. 

Finding  that  I  was  not  closely  pursued,  I 
ventured  to  take  time  on  the  way  down  for  a 
visit  to  the  head  of  the  Whitney  Glacier  and 
the  "  Crater  Butte."  After  I  reached  the  end 
of  the  main  summit  ridge  the  descent  was  but 
little  more  than  one  continuous  soft,  mealy, 
muffled  slide,  most  luxurious  and  rapid,  though 
the  hissing,  swishing  speed  attained  was  ob 
scured  in  great  part  by  flying  snow-dust  — 
a  marked  contrast  to  the  boring  seal-wallow 
ing  upward  struggle.  I  reached  camp  about  an 
hour  before  dusk,  hollowed  a  strip  of  loose 
ground  in  the  lee  of  a  large  block  of  red  lava, 

63 


STEEP  TRAILS 

where  firewood  was  abundant,  rolled  myself  in 
my  blankets,  and  went  to  sleep. 

Next  morning,  having  slept  little  the  night 
before  the  ascent  and  being  weary  with  climb 
ing  after  the  excitement  was  over,  I  slept  late. 
Then,  awaking  suddenly,  my  eyes  opened  on 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  sublime  scenes 
I  ever  enjoyed.  A  boundless  wilderness  of 
storm-clouds  of  different  degrees  of  ripeness 
were  congregated  over  all  the  lower  landscape 
for  thousands  of  square  miles,  colored  gray, 
and  purple,  and  pearl,  and  deep-glowing  white, 
amid  which  I  seemed  to  be  floating;  while  the 
great  white  cone  of  the  mountain  above  was  all 
aglow  in  the  free,  blazing  sunshine.  It  seemed 
not  so  much  an  ocean  as  a  land  of  clouds  — 
undulating  hill  and  dale,  smooth  purple  plains, 
and  silvery  mountains  of  cumuli,  range  over 
range,  diversified  with,  peak  and  dome  and 
hollow  fully  brought  out  in  light  and  shade. 

I  gazed  enchanted,  but  cold  gray  masses, 
drifting  like  dust  on  a  wind-swept  plain,  began 
to  shut  out  the  light,  forerunners  of  the  coming 
storm  I  had  been  so  anxiously  watching.  I 
made  haste  to  gather  as  much  wood  as  possi 
ble,  snugging  it  as  a  shelter  around  my  bed. 
The  storm  side  of  my  blankets  was  fastened 
down  with  stakes  to  reduce  as  much  as  possible 
the  sifting-in  of  drift  and  the  danger  of  being 

64 


A  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUMMIT 

blown  away.  The  precious  bread-sack  was 
placed  safely  as  a  pillow,  and  when  at  length 
the  first  flakes  fell  I  was  exultingly  ready  to 
welcome  them.  Most  of  my  firewood  was  more 
than  half  rosin  and  would  blaze  in  the  face  of 
the  fiercest  drifting;  the  winds  could  not  de 
molish  my  bed,  and  my  bread  could  be  made 
to  last  indefinitely;  while  in  case  of  need  I  had 
the  means  of  making  snowshoes  and  could 
retreat  or  hold  my  ground  as  I  pleased. 

Presently  the  storm  broke  forth  into  full 
snowy  bloom,  and  the  thronging  crystals  dark 
ened  the  air.  The  wind  swept  past  in  hissing 
floods,  grinding  the  snow  into  meal  and  sweep 
ing  down  into  the  hollows  hi  enormous  drifts 
all  the  heavier  particles,  while  the  finer  dust 
was  sifted  through  the  sky,  increasing  the  icy 
gloom.  But  my  fire  glowed  bravely  as  if  hi  glad 
defiance  of  the  drift  to  quench  it,  and,  notwith 
standing  but  little  trace  of  my  nest  could  be 
seen  after  the  snow  had  leveled  and  buried  it, 
I  was  snug  and  warm,  and  the  passionate  up 
roar  produced  a  glad  excitement. 

Day  after  day  the  storm  continued,  piling 
snow  on  snow  in  weariless  abundance.  There 
were  short  periods  of  quiet,  when  the  sun  would 
seem  to  look  eagerly  down  through  rents  in  the 
clouds,  as  if  to  know  how  the  work  was  ad 
vancing.  During  these  calm  intervals  I  re- 

65 


STEEP  TRAILS 

plenished  my  fire  —  sometimes  without  leaving 
the  nest,  for  fire  and  woodpile  were  so  near 
this  could  easily  be  done  —  or  busied  myself 
with  my  notebook,  watching  the  gestures  of  the 
trees  in  taking  the  snow,  examining  separate 
crystals  under  a  lens,  and  learning  the  methods 
of  their  deposition  as  an  enduring  fountain  for 
the  streams.  Several  times,  when  the  storm 
ceased  for  a  few  minutes,  a  Douglas  squirrel 
came  frisking  from  the  foot  of  a  clump  of 
dwarf  pines,  moving  in  sudden  interrupted 
spurts  over  the  bossy  snow;  then,  without  any 
apparent  guidance,  he  would  dig  rapidly  into 
the  drift  where  were  buried  some  grains  of 
barley  that  the  horses  had  left.  The  Douglas 
squirrel  does  not  strictly  belong  to  these  upper 
woods,  and  I  was  surprised  to  see  him  out  in 
such  weather.  The  mountain  sheep  also,  quite 
a  large  flock  of  them,  came  to  my  camp  and 
took  shelter  beside  a  clump  of  matted  dwarf 
pines  a  little  above  my  nest. 

The  storm  lasted  about  a  week,  but  before 
it  was  ended  Sisson  became  alarmed  and  sent 
up  the  guide  with  animals  to  see  what  had  be 
come  of  me  and  recover  the  camp  outfit.  The 
news  spread  that  "there  was  a  man  on  the 
mountain,"  and  he  must  surely  have  perished, 
and  Sisson  was  blamed  for  allowing  any  one  to 
attempt  climbing  in  such  weather;  while  I  was 

66 


A  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUMMIT 

as  safe  as  anybody  in  the  lowlands,  lying  like 
a  squirrel  in  a  warm,  fluffy  nest,  busied  about 
my  own  affairs  and  wishing  only  to  be  let  alone. 
Later,  however,  a  trail  could  not  have  been 
broken  for  a  horse,  and  some  of  the  camp  fur 
niture  would  have  had  to  be  abandoned.  On 
the  fifth  day  I  returned  to  Sisson's,  and  from 
that  comfortable  base  made  excursions,  as  the 
weather  permitted,  to  the  Black  Butte,  to  the 
foot  of  the  Whitney  Glacier,  around  the  base 
of  the  mountain,  to  Rhett  and  Klamath  Lakes, 
to  the  Modoc  region  and  elsewhere,  develop 
ing  many  interesting  scenes  and  experiences. 

But  the  next  spring,  on  the  other  side  of  this 
eventful  winter,  I  saw  and  felt  still  more  of  the 
Shasta  snow.  For  then  it  was  my  fortune  to 
get  into  the  very  heart  of  a  storm,  and  to  be 
held  in  it  for  a  long  time. 

On  the  28th  of  April  [1875]  I  led  a  party  up 
the  mountain  for  the  purpose  of  making  a  sur 
vey  of  the  summit  with  reference  to  the  loca 
tion  of  the  Geodetic  monument.  On  the  30th, 
accompanied  by  Jerome  Fay,  I  made  another 
ascent  to  make  some  barometrical  observations, 
the  day  intervening  between  the  two  ascents 
being  devoted  to  establishing  a  camp  on  the 
extreme  edge  of  the  timber-line.  Here,  on  our 
red  trachyte  bed,  we  obtained  two  hours  of 
shallow  sleep  broken  for  occasional  glimpses 

67 


STEEP  TRAILS 

of  the  keen,  starry  night.  At  two  o'clock  we 
rose,  breakfasted  on  a  warmed  tin-cupful  of 
coffee  and  a  piece  of  frozen  venison  broiled  on 
the  coals,  and  started  for  the  summit.  Up  to 
this  time  there  was  nothing  in  sight  that  be 
tokened  the  approach  of  a  storm;  but  on  gain 
ing  the  summit,  we  saw  toward  Lassen's  Butte 
hundreds  of  square  miles  of  white  cumuli  boil 
ing  dreamily  in  the  sunshine  far  beneath  us, 
and  causing  no  alarm. 

The  slight  weariness  of  the  ascent  was  soon 
rested  away,  and  our  glorious  morning  in  the 
sky  promised  nothing  but  enjoyment.  At 
9  A.M.  the  dry  thermometer  stood  at  34°  in  the 
shade  and  rose  steadily  until  at  1  P.M.  it  stood 
at  50°,  probably  influenced  somewhat  by  radi 
ation  from  the  sun-warmed  cliffs.  A  common 
bumble-bee,  not  at  all  benumbed,  zigzagged 
vigorously  about  our  heads  for  a  few  moments, 
as  if  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  the  nearest 
honey  flower  was  a  mile  beneath  him 

In  the  mean  time  clouds  were  growing  down 
in  Shasta  Valley  —  massive  swelling  cumuli, 
displaying  delicious  tones  of  purple  and  gray 
in  the  hollows  of  their  sun-beaten  bosses. 
Extending  gradually  southward  around  on 
both  sides  of  Shasta,  these  at  length  united 
with  the  older  field  towards  Lassen's  Butte, 
thus  encircling  Mount  Shasta  in  one  continu 
es 


A  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUMMIT 

ous  cloud-zone.  Rhett  and  Kalmath  Lakes 
were  eclipsed  beneath  clouds  scarcely  less  bril 
liant  than  their  own  silvery  disks.  The  Modoc 
Lava  Beds,  many  a  snow-laden  peak  far  north 
in  Oregon,  the  Scott  and  Trinity  and  Siskiyou 
Mountains,  the  peaks  of  the  Sierra,  the  blue 
Coast  Range,  Shasta  Valley,  the  dark  forests 
filling  the  valley  of  the  Sacramento,  all  in  turn 
were  obscured  or  buried,  leaving  the  lofty  cone 
on  which  we  stood  solitary  in  the  sunshine 
between  two  skies  —  a  sky  of  spotless  blue 
above,  a  sky  of  glittering  cloud  beneath.  The 
creative  sun  shone  glorious  on  the  vast  expanse 
of  cloudland;  hill  and  dale,  mountain  and  val 
ley  springing  into  existence  responsive  to  his 
rays  and  steadily  developing  in  beauty  and 
individuality.  One  huge  mountain-cone  of 
cloud,  corresponding  to  Mount  Shasta  in  these 
newborn  cloud-ranges,  rose  close  alongside 
with  a  visible  motion,  its  firm,  polished  bosses 
seeming  so  near  and  substantial  that  we  almost 
fancied  we  might  leap  down  upon  them  from 
where  we  stood  and  make  our  way  to  the  low 
lands.  No  hint  was  given,  by  anything  in 
their  appearance,  of  the  fleeting  character  of 
these  most  sublime  and  beautiful  cloud  moun 
tains.  On  the  contrary  they  impressed  one  as 
being  lasting  additions  to  the  landscape. 
The  weather  of  the  springtime  and  summer, 


STEEP  TRAILS 

throughout  the  Sierra  in  general,  is  usually 
varied  by  slight  local  rains  and  dustings  of 
snow,  most  of  which  are  obviously  far  too  joy 
ous  and  life-giving  to  be  regarded  as  storms  — 
single  clouds  growing  in  the  sunny  sky,  ripen 
ing  in  an  hour,  showering  the  heated  landscape, 
and  passing  away  like  a  thought,  leaving  no 
visible  bodily  remains  to  stain  the  sky.  Snow 
storms  of  the  same  gentle  kind  abound  among 
the  high  peaks,  but  in  spring  they  not  unfre- 
quently  attain  larger  proportions,  assuming  a 
violence  and  energy  of  expression  scarcely  sur 
passed  by  those  bred  in  the  depths  of  winter. 
Such  was  the  storm  now  gathering  about  us. 

It  began  to  declare  itself  shortly  after  noon, 
suggesting  to  us  the  idea  of  at  once  seeking 
our  safe  camp  in  the  timber  and  abandoning 
the  purpose  of  making  an  observation  of  the 
barometer  at  3  P.M.,  —  two  having  already 
been  made,  at  9  A.M.,  and  12  M.,  while  simul 
taneous  observations  were  made  at  Strawberry 
Valley.  Jerome  peered  at  short  intervals  over 
the  ridge,  contemplating  the  rising  clouds  with 
anxious  gestures  in  the  rough  wind,  and  at 
length  declared  that  if  we  did  not  make  a 
speedy  escape  we  should  be  compelled  to  pass 
the  rest  of  the  day  and  night  on  the  summit. 
But  anxiety  to  complete  my  observations 
stifled  my  own  instinctive  promptings  to  re- 

70 


A  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUMMIT 

treat,  and  held  me  to  my  work.  No  inexperi 
enced  person  was  depending  on  me,  and  I  told 
Jerome  that  we  two  mountaineers  should  be 
able  to  make  our  way  down  through  any  storm 
likely  to  fall. 

Presently  thin,  fibrous  films  of  cloud  began 
to  blow  directly  over  the  summit  from  north 
to  south,  drawn  out  in  long  fairy  webs  like 
carded  wool,  forming  and  dissolving  as  if  by 
magic.  The  wind  twisted  them  into  ringlets 
and  whirled  them  in  a  succession  of  graceful 
convolutions  like  the  outside  sprays  of  Yosem- 
ite  Falls  in  flood-time;  then,  sailing  out  into 
the  thin  azure  over  the  precipitous  brink  of  the 
ridge  they  were  drifted  together  like  wreaths 
of  foam  on  a  river.  These  higher  and  finer 
cloud  fabrics  were  evidently  produced  by  the 
chilling  of  the  air  from  its  own  expansion  caused 
by  the  upward  deflection  of  the  wind  against 
the  slopes  of  the  mountain.  They  steadily 
increased  on  the  north  rim  of  the  cone,  form 
ing  at  length  a  thick,  opaque,  ill-defined  em 
bankment  from  the  icy  meshes  of  which  snow- 
flowers  began  to  fall,  alternating  with  hail.  The 
sky  speedily  darkened,  and  just  as  I  had  com 
pleted  my  last  observation  and  boxed  my 
instruments  ready  for  the  descent,  the  storm 
began  in  serious  earnest.  At  first  the  cliffs 
were  beaten  with  hail,  every  stone  of  which, 
71 


STEEP  TRAILS 

as  far  as  I  could  see,  was  regular  in  form,  six- 
sided  pyramids  with  rounded  base,  rich  and 
sumptuous-looking,  and  fashioned  with  loving 
care,  yet  seemingly  thrown  away  on  those  deso 
late  crags  down  which  they  went  rolling,  fall 
ing,  sliding  in  a  network  of  curious  streams. 

After  we  had  forced  our  way  down  the  ridge 
and  past  the  group  of  hissing  fumaroles,  the 
storm  became  inconceivably  violent.  The  ther 
mometer  fell  22°  in  a  few  minutes,  and  soon 
dropped  below  zero.  The  hail  gave  place  to 
snow,  and  darkness  came  on  like  night.  The 
wind,  rising  to  the  highest  pitch  of  violence, 
boomed  and  surged  amid  the  desolate  crags; 
lightning-flashes  in  quick  succession  cut  the 
gloomy  darkness;  and  the  thunders,  the  most 
tremendously  loud  and  appalling  I  ever  heard, 
made  an  almost  continuous  roar,  stroke  follow 
ing  stroke  in  quick,  passionate  succession,  as 
though  the  mountain  were  being  rent  to  its 
foundations  and  the  fires  of  the  old  volcano 
were  breaking  forth  again. 

Could  we  at  once  have  begun  to  descend  the 
snow-slopes  leading  to  the  timber,  we  might 
have  made  good  our  escape,  however  dark  and 
wild  the  storm.  As  it  was,  we  had  first  to  make 
our  way  along  a  dangerous  ridge  nearly  a  mile 
and  a  half  long,  flanked  in  many  places  by  steep 
ice-slopes  at  the  head  of  the  Whitney  Glacier 

72 


A  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUMMIT 

on  one  side  and  by  shattered  precipices  on  the 
other.  Apprehensive  of  this  coming  darkness, 
I  had  taken  the  precaution,  when  the  storm 
began,  to  make  the  most  dangerous  points  clear 
to  my  mind,  and  to  mark  their  relations  with 
reference  to  the  direction  of  the  wind.  When, 
therefore,  the  darkness  came  on,  and  the  be 
wildering  drift,  I  felt  confident  that  we  could 
force  our  way  through  it  with  no  other  guid 
ance.  After  passing  the  "Hot  Springs"  I 
halted  in  the  lee  of  a  lava-block  to  let  Jerome, 
who  had  fallen  a  little  behind,  come  up.  Here 
he  opened  a  council  in  which,  under  circum 
stances  sufficiently  exciting  but  without  evinc 
ing  any  bewilderment,  he  maintained,  in  oppo 
sition  to  my  views,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
proceed.  He  firmly  refused  to  make  the  ven 
ture  to  find  the  camp,  while  I,  aware  of  the 
dangers  that  would  necessarily  attend  our 
efforts,  and  conscious  of  being  the  cause  of  his 
present  peril,  decided  not  to  leave  him. 

Our  discussions  ended,  Jerome  made  a  dash 
from  the  shelter  of  the  lava-block  and  began 
forcing  his  way  back  against  the  wind  to  the 
"Hot  Springs,"  wavering  and  struggling  to 
resist  being  carried  away,  as  if  he  were  fording 
a  rapid  stream.  After  waiting  and  watching  in 
vain  for  some  flaw  in  the  storm  that  might  be 
urged  as  a  new  argument  in  favor  of  attempt- 
73 


STEEP  TRAILS 

ing  the  descent,  I  was  compelled  to  follow. 
"Here,"  said  Jerome,  as  we  shivered  in  the 
midst  of  the  hissing,  sputtering  fumaroles, 
"we  shall  be  safe  from  frost."  "Yes,"  said  I, 
"we  can  lie  in  this  mud  and  steam  and  sludge, 
warm  at  least  on  one  side;  but  how  can  we 
protect  our  lungs  from  the  acid  gases,  and  how, 
after  our  clothing  is  saturated,  shall  we  be  able 
to  reach  camp  without  freezing,  even  after  the 
storm  is  over?  We  shall  have  to  wait  for  sun 
shine,  and  when  will  it  come?" 

The  tempered  area  to  which  we  had  com 
mitted  ourselves  extended  over  about  one 
fourth  of  an  acre;  but  it  was  only  about  an 
eighth  of  an  inch  in  thickness,  for  the  scalding 
gas-jets  were  shorn  off  close  to  the  ground  by 
the  oversweeping  flood  of  frosty  wind.  And 
how  lavishly  the  snow  fell  only  mountaineers 
may  know.  The  crisp  crystal  flowers  seemed 
to  touch  one  another  and  fairly  to  thicken  the 
tremendous  blast  that  carried  them.  This  was 
the  bloom-time,  the  summer  of  the  cloud,  and 
never  before  have  I  seen  even  a  mountain 
cloud  flowering  so  profusely. 

When  the  bloom  of  the  Shasta  chaparral  is 
falling,  the  ground  is  sometimes  covered  for 
hundreds  of  square  miles  to  a  depth  of  half  an 
inch.  But  the  bloom  of  this  fertile  snow-cloud 
grew  and  matured  and  fell  to  a  depth  of  two 

74 


A  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUMMIT 

feet  in  a  few  hours.  Some  crystals  landed  with 
their  rays  almost  perfect,  but  most  of  them 
were  worn  and  broken  by  striking  against  one 
another,  or  by  rolling  on  the  ground.  The 
touch  of  these  snow-flowers  in  calm  weather  is 
infinitely  gentle  —  glinting,  swaying,  settling 
silently  in  the  dry  mountain  air,  or  massed  in 
flakes  soft  and  downy.  To  lie  out  alone  in  the 
mountains  of  a  still  night  and  be  touched  by 
the  first  of  these  small  silent  messengers  from 
the  sky  is  a  memorable  experience,  and  the 
fineness  of  that  touch  none  will  forget.  But 
the  storm-blast  laden  with  crisp,  sharp  snow 
seems  to  crush  and  bruise  and  stupefy  with  its 
multitude  of  stings,  and  compels  the  bravest 
to  turn  and  flee. 

The  snow  fell  without  abatement  until  an 
hour  or  two  after  what  seemed  to  be  the  natu 
ral  darkness  of  the  night.  Up  to  the  tune  the 
storm  first  broke  on  the  summit  its  develop 
ment  was  remarkably  gentle.  There  was  a 
deliberate  growth  of  clouds,  a  weaving  of 
translucent  tissue  above,  then  the  roar  of  the 
wind  and  the  thunder,  and  the  darkening  flight 
of  snow.  Its  subsidence  was  not  less  sudden. 
The  clouds  broke  and  vanished,  not  a  crystal 
was  left  in  the  sky,  and  the  stars  shone  out  with 
pure  and  tranquil  radiance. 

During  the  storm  we  lay  on  our  backs  so  as 

75 


STEEP  TRAILS 

to  present  as  little  surface  as  possible  to  the 
wind,  and  to  let  the  drift  pass  over  us.  The 
mealy  snow  sifted  into  the  folds  of  our  clothing 
and  in  many  places  reached  the  skin.  We  were 
glad  at  first  to  see  the  snow  packing  about  us, 
hoping  it  would  deaden  the  force  of  the  wind, 
but  it  soon  froze  into  a  stiff,  crusty  heap  as  the 
temperature  fell,  rather  augmenting  our  novel 
misery. 

When  the  heat  became  unendurable,  on 
some  spot  where  steam  was  escaping  through 
the  sludge,  we  tried  to  stop  it  with  snow  and 
mud,  or  shifted  a  little  at  a  time  by  shoving 
with  our  heels;  for  to  stand  in  blank  exposure 
to  the  fearful  wind  in  our  frozen-and-broiled 
condition  seemed  certain  death.  The  acrid 
incrustations  sublimed  from  the  escaping  gases 
frequently  gave  way,  opening  new  vents  to 
scald  us;  and,  fearing  that  if  at  any  time  the 
wind  should  fall,  carbonic  acid,  which  often 
formed  a  considerable  portion  of  the  gaseous 
exhalations  of  volcanoes,  might  collect  in  suffi 
cient  quantities  to  cause  sleep  and  death,  I 
warned  Jerome  against  forgetting  himself  for 
a  single  moment,  even  should  his  sufferings  ad 
mit  of  such  a  thing. 

Accordingly,  when  during  the  long,  dreary 
watches  of  the  night  we  roused  from  a  state  of 
half-consciousness,  we  called  each  other  by 

76 


A  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUMMIT 

name  in  a  frightened,  startled  way,  each  fear 
ing  the  other  might  be  benumbed  or  dead.  The 
ordinary  sensations  of  cold  give  but  a  faint 
conception  of  that  which  comes  on  after  hard 
climbing  with  want  of  food  and  sleep  in  such 
exposure  as  this.  Life  is  then  seen  to  be  a  fire, 
that  now  smoulders,  now  brightens,  and  may 
be  easily  quenched.  The  weary  hours  wore 
away  like  dim  half-forgotten  years,  so  long 
and  eventful  they  seemed,  though  we  did 
nothing  but  suffer.  Still  the  pain  was  not  al 
ways  of  that  bitter,  intense  kind  that  precludes 
thought  and  takes  away  all  capacity  for  enjoy 
ment.  A  sort  of  dreamy  stupor  came  on  at 
times  in  which  we  fancied  we  saw  dry,  resinous 
logs  suitable  for  campfires,  just  as  after  going 
days  without  food  men  fancy  they  see  bread. 

Frozen,  blistered,  famished,  benumbed,  our 
bodies  seemed  lost  to  us  at  times  —  all  dead 
but  the  eyes.  For  the  duller  and  fainter  we 
became  the  clearer  was  our  vision,  though  only 
in  momentary  glimpses.  Then,  after  the  sky 
cleared,  we  gazed  at  the  stars,  blessed  immor 
tals  of  light,  shining  with  marvelous  brightness 
with  long  lance  rays,  near-looking  and  new- 
looking,  as  if  never  seen  before.  Again  they 
would  look  familiar  and  remind  us  of  star 
gazing  at  home.  Oftentimes  imagination  com 
ing  into  play  would  present  charming  pictures 

77 


STEEP  TRAILS 

of  the  warm  zone  below,  mingled  with  others 
near  and  far.  Then  the  bitter  wind  and  the 
drift  would  break  the  blissful  vision  and  dreary 
pains  cover  us  like  clouds.  "Are  you  suffering 
much?"  Jerome  would  inquire  with  pitiful 
faintness.  "Yes,"  I  would  say,  striving  to 
keep  my  voice  brave,  "frozen  and  burned;  but 
never  mind,  Jerome,  the  night  will  wear  away 
at  last,  and  to-morrow  we  go  a-Maying,  and 
what  campfires  we  will  make,  and  what  sun- 
baths  we  will  take!" 

The  frost  grew  more  and  more  intense,  and 
we  became  icy  and  covered  over  with  a  crust 
of  frozen  snow,  as  if  we  had  lain  cast  away  in 
the  drift  all  winter.  In  about  thirteen  hours  — 
every  hour  like  a  year  —  day  began  to  dawn, 
but  it  was  long  ere  the  summit's  rocks  were 
touched  by  the  sun.  No  clouds  were  visible 
from  where  we  lay,  yet  the  morning  was  dull 
and  blue,  and  bitterly  frosty;  and  hour  after 
hour  passed  by  while  we  eagerly  watched  the 
pale  light  stealing  down  the  ridge  to  the  hollow 
where  we  lay.  But  there  was  not  a  trace  of 
that  warm,  flushing  sunrise  splendor  we  so  long 
had  hoped  for. 

As  the  tune  drew  near  to  make  an  effort  to 

reach  camp,  we  became  concerned  to  know 

what  strength  was  left  us,  and  whether  or  no 

we  could  walk;  for  we  had  lain  flat  all  this  time 

78 


A  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUMMIT 

without  once  rising  to  our  feet.  Mountaineers, 
however,  always  find  in  themselves  a  reserve 
of  power  after  great  exhaustion.  It  is  a  kind 
of  second  life,  available  only  in  emergencies 
like  this;  and,  having  proved  its  existence,  I 
had  no  great  fear  that  either  of  us  would  fail, 
though  one  of  my  arms  was  already  benumbed 
and  hung  powerless. 

At  length,  after  the  temperature  was  some 
what  mitigated  on  this  memorable  first  of  May, 
we  arose  and  began  to  struggle  homeward. 
Our  frozen  trousers  could  scarcely  be  made  to 
bend  at  the  knee,  and  we  waded  the  snow  with 
difficulty.  The  summit  ridge  was  fortunately 
wind-swept  and  nearly  bare,  so  we  were  not 
compelled  to  lift  our  feet  high,  and  on  reaching 
the  long  home  slopes  laden  with  loose  snow  we 
made  rapid  progress,  sliding  and  shuffling  and 
pitching  headlong,  our  feebleness  accelerating 
rather  than  diminishing  our  speed.  When  we 
had  descended  some  three  thousand  feet  the 
sunshine  warmed  our  backs  and  we  began  to 
revive.  At  10  A.M.  we  reached  the  timber  and 
were  safe. 

Half  an  hour  later  we  heard  Sisson  shouting 
down  among  the  firs,  coming  with  horses  to 
take  us  to  the  hotel.  After  breaking  a  trail 
through  the  snow  as  far  as  possible  he  had  tied 
his  animals  and  walked  up.  We  had  been  so 
79 


STEEP  TRAILS 

long  without  food  that  we  cared  but  little 
about  eating,  but  we  eagerly  drank  the  coffee 
he  prepared  for  us.  Our  feet  were  frozen,  and 
thawing  them  was  painful,  and  had  to  be  done 
very  slowly  by  keeping  them  buried  in  soft 
snow  for  several  hours,  which  avoided  perma 
nent  damage.  Five  thousand  feet  below  the 
summit  we  found  only  three  inches  of  new 
snow,  and  at  the  base  of  the  mountain  only  a 
slight  shower  of  rain  had  fallen,  showing  how 
local  our  storm  had  been,  notwithstanding  its 
terrific  fury.  Our  feet  were  wrapped  in  sacking, 
and  we  were  soon  mounted  and  on  our  way 
down  into  the  thick  sunshine  —  "  God's  Coun 
try,"  as  Sisson  calls  the  Chaparral  Zone.  In 
two  hours'  ride  the  last  snow-bank  was  left 
behind.  Violets  appeared  along  the  edges  of 
the  trail,  and  the  chaparral  was  coming  into 
bloom,  with  young  lilies  and  larkspurs  about 
the  open  places  in  rich  profusion.  How  beauti 
ful  seemed  the  golden  sunbeams  streaming 
through  the  woods  between  the  warm  brown 
boles  of  the  cedars  and  pines!  All  my  friends 
among  the  birds  and  plants  seemed  like  old 
friends,  and  we  felt  like  speaking  to  every  one 
of  them  as  we  passed,  as  if  we  had  been  a  long 
time  away  in  some  far,  strange  country. 

In  the  afternoon  we  reached  Strawberry  Val 
ley  and  fell  asleep.  Next  morning  we  seemed  to 

80 


A  NIGHT  ON  SHASTA'S  SUMMIT 

have  risen  from  the  dead.  My  bedroom  was 
flooded  with  sunshine,  and  from  the  window  I 
saw  the  great  white  Shasta  cone  clad  in  forests 
and  clouds  and  bearing  them  loftily  in  the  sky. 
Everything  seemed  full  and  radiant  with  the 
freshness  and  beauty  and  enthusiasm  of  youth. 
Sisson's  children  came  in  with  flowers  and  cov 
ered  my  bed,  and  the  storm  on  the  mountain- 
top  vanished  like  a  dream. 


SHASTA  RAMBLES  AND  MODOC  MEMORIES 

ARCTIC  beauty  and  desolation,  with  their 
blessings  and  dangers,  all  may  be  found  here, 
to  test  the  endurance  and  skill  of  adventurous 
climbers;  but  far  better  than  climbing  the 
mountain  is  going  around  its  warm,  fertile  base, 
enjoying  its  bounties  like  a  bee  circling  around 
a  bank  of  flowers.  The  distance  is  about  a  hun 
dred  miles,  and  will  take  some  of  the  time  we 
hear  so  much  about  —  a  week  or  two  —  but 
the  benefits  will  compensate  for  any  number 
of  weeks.  Perhaps  the  profession  of  doing  good 
may  be  full,  but  everybody  should  be  kind  at 
least  to  himself.  Take  a  course  of  good  water 
and  air,  and  in  the  eternal  youth  of  Nature 
you  may  renew  your  own.  Go  quietly,  alone; 
no  harm  will  befall  you.   Some  have  strange, 
morbid  fears  as  soon  as  they  find  themselves 
with  Nature,  even  in  the  kindest  and  wildest 
of  her  solitudes,  like  very  sick  children  afraid 
of  their  mother  —  as  if  God  were  dead  and  the 
devil  were  king. 

One  may  make  the  trip  on  horseback,  or  in 
a  carriage,  even;  for  a  good  level  road  may  be 
found  all  the  way  round,  by  Shasta  Valley, 

82 


SHASTA  RAMBLES 

Sheep  Rock,  Elk  Flat,  Huckleberry  Valley, 
Squaw  Valley,  following  for  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  way  the  old  Emigrant  Road, 
which  lies  along  the  east  disk  of  the  mountain, 
and  is  deeply  worn  by  the  wagons  of  the  early 
gold-seekers,  many  of  whom  chose  this  north 
ern  route  as  perhaps  being  safer  and  easier, 
the  pass  here  being  only  about  six  thousand 
feet  above  sea-level.  But  it  is  far  better  to  go 
afoot.  Then  you  are  free  to  make  wide  waver 
ings  and  zigzags  away  from  the  roads  to  visit 
the  great  fountain  streams  of  the  rivers,  the 
glaciers  also,  and  the  wildest  retreats  in  the 
primeval  forests,  where  the  best  plants  and 
animals  dwell,  and  where  many  a  flower-bell 
will  ring  against  your  knees,  and  friendly  trees 
will  reach  out  their  fronded  branches  and 
touch  you  as  you  pass.  One  blanket  will  be 
enough  to  carry,  or  you  may  forego  the  pleas 
ure  and  burden  altogether,  as  wood  for  fires  is 
everywhere  abundant.  Only  a  little  food  will 
be  required.  Berries  and  plums  abound  in 
season,  and  quail  and  grouse  and  deer  —  the 
magnificent  shaggy  mule  deer  as  well  as  the 
common  species. 

As  you  sweep  around  so  grand  a  center,  the 
mountain  itself  seems  to  turn,  displaying  its 
riches  like  the  revolving  pyramids  in  jewelers' 
windows.  One  glacier  after  another  comes  into 

83 


STEEP  TRAILS 

view,  and  the  outlines  of  the  mountain  are 
ever  changing,  though  all  the  way  around,  from 
whatever  point  of  view,  the  form  is  maintained 
of  a  grand,  simple  cone  with  a  gently  sloping 
base  and  rugged,  crumbling  ridges  separating 
the  glaciers  and  the  snow-fields  more  or  less 
completely.  The  play  of  colors,  from  the  first 
touches  of  the  morning  sun  on  the  summit, 
down  the  snow-fields  and  the  ice  and  lava  until 
the  forests  are  aglow,  is  a  never-ending  delight, 
the  rosy  lava  and  the  fine  flushings  of  the  snow 
being  ineffably  lovely.  Thus  one  saunters  on 
and  on  in  the  glorious  radiance  in  utter  peace 
and  forgetfulness  of  time. 

Yet,  strange  to  say,  there  are  days  even  here 
somewhat  dull-looking,  when  the  mountain 
seems  uncommunicative,  sending  out  no  appre 
ciable  invitation,  as  if  not  at  home.  At  such 
times  its  height  seems  much  less,  as  if,  crouch 
ing  and  weary,  it  were  taking  rest.  But  Shasta 
is  always  at  home  to  those  who  love  her,  and 
is  ever  in  a  thrill  of  enthusiastic  activity  — 
burning  fires  within,  grinding  glaciers  without, 
and  fountains  ever  flowing.  Every  crystal 
dances  responsive  to  the  touches  of  the  sun, 
and  currents  of  sap  in  the  growing  cells  of  all 
the  vegetation  are  ever  in  a  vital  whirl  and 
rush,  and  though  many  feet  and  wings  are 
folded,  how  many  are  astir!  And  the  wander- 

84 


SHASTA  RAMBLES 

ing  winds,  how  busy  they  are,  and  what  a 
breadth  of  sound  and  motion  they  make,  glint 
ing  and  bubbling  about  the  crags  of  the  sum 
mit,  sifting  through  the  woods,  feeling  their 
way  from  grove  to  grove,  ruffling  the  loose  hair 
on  the  shoulders  of  the  bears,  fanning  and  rock 
ing  young  birds  in  their  cradles,  making  a 
trumpet  of  every  corolla,  and  carrying  their 
fragrance  around  the  world. 

In  unsettled  weather,  when  storms  are  grow 
ing,  the  mountain  looms  immensely  higher, 
and  its  miles  of  height  become  apparent  to  all, 
especially  in  the  gloom  of  the  gathering  clouds, 
or  when  the  storm  is  done  and  they  are  rolling 
away,  torn  on  the  edges  and  melting  while  in 
the  sunshine.  Slight  rain-storms  are  likely  to 
be  encountered  in  a  trip  round  the  mountain, 
but  one  may  easily  find  shelter  beneath  well- 
thatched  trees  that  shed  the  rain  like  a  roof. 
Then  the  shining  of  the  wet  leaves  is  delight 
ful,  and  the  steamy  fragrance,  and  the  burst 
of  bird-song  from  a  multitude  of  thrushes  and 
finches  and  warblers  that  have  nests  in  the 
chaparral. 

The  nights,  too,  are  delightful,  watching 
with  Shasta  beneath  the  great  starry  dome.  A 
thousand  thousand  voices  are  heard,  but  so 
finely  blended  they  seem  a  part  of  the  night 
itself,  and  make  a  deeper  silence.  And  how 

85 


STEEP  TRAILS 

grandly  do  the  great  logs  and  branches  of  your 
campfire  give  forth  the  heat  and  light  that 
during  their  long  century-lives  they  have  so 
slowly  gathered  from  the  sun,  storing  it  away 
in  beautiful  dotted  cells  and  beads  of  amber 
gum!  The  neighboring  trees  look  into  the 
charmed  circle  as  if  the  noon  of  another  day 
had  come,  familiar  flowers  and  grasses  that 
chance  to  be  near  seem  far  more  beautiful  and 
impressive  than  by  day,  and  as  the  dead  trees 
give  forth  their  light  all  the  other  riches  of 
their  lives  seem  to  be  set  free  and  with  the 
rejoicing  flames  rise  again  to  the  sky.  In  set 
ting  out  from  Strawberry  Valley,  by  bearing  off 
to  the  northwestward  a  few  miles  you  may  see 

" .  .  .  beneath  dim  aisles,  in  odorous  beds, 
The  slight  Linnsea  hang  its  twin-born  heads, 
And  [bless]  the  monument  of  the  man  of  flowers, 
Which  breathes  his  sweet  fame  through  the 
northern  bowers." 

This  is  one  of  the  few  places  in  California 
where  the  charming  linnsea  is  found,  though 
it  is  common  to  the  northward  through  Oregon 
and  Washington.  Here,  too,  you  may  find  the 
curious  but  unlovable  darlingtonia,  a  carnivo 
rous  plant  that  devours  bumble-bees,  grass 
hoppers,  ants,  moths,  and  other  insects,  with 
insatiable  appetite.  In  approaching  it,  its 
suspicious-looking  yellow-spotted  hood  and 
86 


SHASTA  RAMBLES 

watchful  attitude  will  be  likely  to  make  you 
go  cautiously  through  the  bog  where  it  stands, 
as  if  you  were  approaching  a  dangerous  snake. 
It  also  occurs  in  a  bog  near  Sothern's  Station 
on  the  stage-road,  where  I  first  saw  it,  and  in 
other  similar  bogs  throughout  the  mountains 
hereabouts. 

The  "Big  Spring "  of  the  Sacramento  is 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  above  Sisson's,  issuing 
from  the  base  of  a  drift-covered  hill.  It  is  lined 
with  emerald  algae  and  mosses,  and  shaded 
with  alder,  willow,  and  thorn  bushes,  which 
give  it  a  fine  setting.  Its  waters,  apparently 
unaffected  by  flood  or  drouth,  heat  or  cold, 
fall  at  once  into  white  rapids  with  a  rush  and 
dash,  as  if  glad  to  escape  from  the  darkness  to 
begin  their  wild  course  down  the  canon  to  the 
plain. 

Muir's  Peak,  a  few  miles  to  the  north  of  the 
spring,  rises  about  three  thousand  feet  above 
the  plain  on  which  it  stands,  and  is  easily 
climbed.  The  view  is  very  fine  and  well  repays 
the  slight  walk  to  its  summit,  from  which  much 
of  your  way  about  the  mountain  may  be  stud 
ied  and  chosen.  The  view  obtained  of  the 
Whitney  Glacier  should  tempt  you  to  visit  it, 
since  it  is  the  largest  of  the  Shasta  glaciers  and 
its  lower  portion  abounds  in  beautiful  and 
interesting  cascades  and  crevasses.  It  is  three 

87 


STEEP  TRAILS 

or  four  miles  long  and  terminates  at  an  eleva 
tion  of  about  nine  thousand  five  hundred  feet 
above  sea-level,  in  moraine-sprinkled  ice-cliffs 
sixty  feet  high.  The  long  gray  slopes  leading 
up  to  the  glacier  seem  remarkably  smooth  and 
unbroken.  They  are  much  interrupted,  never 
theless,  with  abrupt,  jagged  precipitous  gorges, 
which,  though  offering  instructive  sections  of 
the  lavas  for  examination,  would  better  be 
shunned  by  most  people.  This  may  be  done 
by  keeping  well  down  on  the  base  until  front 
ing  the  glacier  before  beginning  the  ascent. 

The  gorge  through  which  the  glacier  is 
drained  is  raw-looking,  deep  and  narrow,  and 
indescribably  jagged.  The  walls  in  many 
places  overhang;  in  others  they  are  beveled, 
loose,  and  shifting  where  the  channel  has  been 
eroded  by  cinders,  ashes,  strata  of  firm  lavas, 
and  glacial  drift,  telling  of  many  a  change  from 
frost  to  fire  and  their  attendant  floods  of  mud 
and  water.  Most  of  the  drainage  of  the  glacier 
vanishes  at  once  in  the  porous  rocks  to  reappear 
in  springs  in  the  distant  valley,  and  it  is  only 
in  tune  of  flood  that  the  channel  carries  much 
water;  then  there  are  several  fine  falls  in  the 
gorge,  six  hundred  feet  or  more  in  height. 
Snow  lies  in  it  the  year  round  at  an  elevation 
of  eight  thousand  five  hundred  feet,  and  in 
sheltered  spots  a  thousand  feet  lower.  Trac- 


SHASTA  RAMBLES 

ing  this  wild  changing  channel-gorge,  gully, 
or  canon,  the  sections  will  show  Mount  Shasta 
as  a  huge  palimpsest,  containing  the  records, 
layer  upon  layer,  of  strangely  contrasted  events 
in  its  fiery-icy  history.  But  look  well  to  your 
footing,  for  the  way  will  test  the  skill  of  the 
most  cautious  mountaineers. 

Regaining  the  low  ground  at  the  base  of  the 
mountain  and  holding  on  in  your  grand  or 
bit,  you  pass  through  a  belt  of  juniper  woods, 
called  "The  Cedars,"  to  Sheep  Rock  at  the 
foot  of  the  Shasta  Pass.  Here  you  strike  the 
old  emigrant  road,  which  leads  over  the  low 
divide  to  the  eastern  slopes  of  the  mountain. 
In  a  north-northwesterly  direction  from  the 
foot  of  the  pass  you  may  chance  to  find  Pluto's 
Cave,  already  mentioned;  but  it  is  not  easily 
found,  since  its  several  mouths  are  on  a  level 
with  the  general  surface  of  the  ground,  and 
have  been  made  simply  by  the  falling-in  of 
portions  of  the  roof.  Far  the  most  beautiful 
and  richly  furnished  of  the  mountain  caves  of 
California  occur  in  a  thick  belt  of  metamorphic 
limestone  that  is  pretty  generally  developed 
along  the  western  flank  of  the  Sierra  from  the 
McCloud  River  to  the  Kaweah,  a  distance  of 
nearly  four  hundred  miles.  These  volcanic 
caves  are  not  wanting  in  interest,  and  it  is  well 
to  light  a  pitch-pine  torch  and  take  a  walk  in 

89 


STEEP  TRAILS 

these  dark  ways  of  the  underworld  whenever 
opportunity  offers,  if  for  no  other  reason  to 
see  with  new  appreciation  on  returning  to  the 
sunshine  the  beauties  that  lie  so  thick  about  us. 

Sheep  Rock  is  about  twenty  miles  from 
Sisson's,  and  is  one  of  the  principal  winter 
pasture-grounds  of  the  wild  sheep,  from  which 
it  takes  its  name.  It  is  a  mass  of  lava  present 
ing  to  the  gray  sage  plain  of  Shasta  Valley  a 
bold  craggy  front  two  thousand  feet  high.  Its 
summit  lies  at  an  elevation  of  five  thousand 
five  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and  has  sev 
eral  square  miles  of  comparatively  level  sur 
face,  where  bunch-grass  grows  and  the  snow 
does  not  lie  deep,  thus  allowing  the  hardy 
sheep  to  pick  up  a  living  through  the  winter 
months  when  deep  snows  have  driven  them 
down  from  the  lofty  ridges  of  Shasta. 

From  here  it  might  be  well  to  leave  the  im 
mediate  base  of  the  mountain  for  a  few  days 
and  visit  the  Lava  Beds  made  famous  by  the 
Modoc  War.  They  lie  about  forty  miles  to  the 
northeastward,  on  the  south  shore  of  Rhett  or 
Tule 1  Lake,  at  an  elevation  above  sea-level  of 
about  forty-five  hundred  feet.  They  are  a  por 
tion  of  a  flow  of  dense  black  vesicular  lava, 
dipping  northeastward  at  a  low  angle,  but 
little  changed  as  yet  by  the  weather,  and  about 

1  Pronounced  Too'-lay. 
90 


SHASTA  RAMBLES 

as  destitute  of  soil  as  a  glacial  pavement.  The 
surface,  though  smooth  hi  a  general  way  as 
seen  from  a  distance,  is  dotted  with  hillocks 
and  rough  crater-like  pits,  and  traversed  by  a 
network  of  yawning  fissures,  forming  a  com 
bination  of  topographical  conditions  of  very 
striking  character.  The  way  lies  by  Mount 
Bremer,  over  stretches  of  gray  sage  plains, 
interrupted  by  rough  lava-slopes  timbered  with 
juniper  and  yellow  pine,  and  with  here  and 
there  a  green  meadow  and  a  stream. 

This  is  a  famous  game  region,  and  you  will 
be  likely  to  meet  small  bands  of  antelope, 
mule  deer,  and  wild  sheep.  Mount  Bremer  is 
the  most  noted  stronghold  of  the  sheep  in  the 
whole  Shasta  region.  Large  flocks  dwell  here 
from  year  to  year,  winter  and  summer,  de 
scending  occasionally  into  the  adjacent  sage 
plains  and  lava-beds  to  feed,  but  ever  ready 
to  take  refuge  hi  the  jagged  crags  of  their 
mountain  at  every  alarm.  While  traveling 
with  a  company  of  hunters  I  saw  about  fifty 
in  one  flock. 

The  Van  Bremer  brothers,  after  whom  the 
mountain  is  named,  told  me  that  they  once 
climbed  the  mountain  with  their  rifles  and 
hounds  on  a  grand  hunt;  but,  after  keeping 
up  the  pursuit  for  a  week,  their  boots  and 
clothing  gave  way,  and  the  hounds  were  lamed 

91 


STEEP  TRAILS 

and  worn  out  without  having  run  down  a 
single  sheep,  notwithstanding  they  ran  night 
and  day.  On  smooth  spots,  level  or  ascending, 
the  hounds  gained  on  the  sheep,  but  on  de 
scending  ground,  and  over  rough  masses  of 
angular  rocks  they  fell  hopelessly  behind.  Only 
half  a  dozen  sheep  were  shot  as  they  passed 
the  hunters  stationed  near  their  paths  circling 
round  the  rugged  summit.  The  full-grown 
bucks  weigh  nearly  three  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds. 

The  mule  deer  are  nearly  as  heavy.  Their 
long,  massive  ears  give  them  a  very  striking 
appearance.  One  large  buck  that  I  measured 
stood  three  feet  and  seven  niches  high  at  the 
shoulders,  and  when  the  ears  were  extended 
horizontally  the  distance  across  from  tip  to 
tip  was  two  feet  and  one  inch. 

From  the  Van  Bremer  ranch  the  way  to  the 
Lava  Beds  leads  down  the  Bremer  Meadows 
past  many  a  smooth  grassy  knoll  and  jutting 
cliff,  along  the  shore  of  Lower  Klamath  Lake, 
and  thence  across  a  few  miles  of  sage  plain  to 
the  brow  of  the  wall-like  bluff  of  lava  four  hun 
dred  and  fifty  feet  above  Tule  Lake.  Here  you 
are  looking  southeastward,  and  the  Modoc 
landscape,  which  at  once  takes  possession  of 
you,  lies  revealed  in  front.  It  is  composed  of 
three  principal  parts;  on  your  left  lies  the 

92 


SHASTA  RAMBLES 

bright  expanse  of  Tule  Lake,  on  your  right  an 
evergreen  forest,  and  between  the  two  are  the 
black  Lava  Beds. 

When  I  first  stood  there,  one  bright  day  be 
fore  sundown,  the  lake  was  fairly  blooming  in 
purple  light,  and  was  so  responsive  to  the  sky 
in  both  calmness  and  color  it  seemed  itself  a 
sky.  No  mountain  shore  hides  its  loveliness. 
It  lies  wide  open  for  many  a  mile,  veiled  in  no 
mystery  but  the  mystery  of  light.  The  forest 
also  was  flooded  with  sun-purple,  not  a  spire 
moving,  and  Mount  Shasta  was  seen  towering 
above  it  rejoicing  in  the  ineffable  beauty  of 
the  alpenglow.  But  neither  the  glorified  woods 
on  the  one  hand,  nor  the  lake  on  the  other, 
could  at  first  hold  the  eye.  That  dark  mysteri 
ous  lava  plain  between  them  compelled  atten 
tion.  Here  you  trace  yawning  fissures,  there 
clusters  of  somber  pits;  now  you  mark  where 
the  lava  is  bent  and  corrugated  in  swelling 
ridges  and  domes,  again  where  it  breaks  into  a 
rough  mass  of  loose  blocks.  Tufts  of  grass  grow 
far  apart  here  and  there  and  small  bushes  of 
hardy  sage,  but  they  have  a  singed  appearance 
and  can  do  little  to  hide  the  blackness.  Deserts 
are  charming  to  those  who  know  how  to  see 
them  —  all  kinds  of  bogs,  barrens,  and  heathy 
moors;  but  the  Modoc  Lava  Beds  have  for  me 
an  uncanny  look.  As  I  gazed  the  purple  deep- 

93 


STEEP  TRAILS 

ened  over  all  the  landscape.  Then  fell  the 
gloaming,  making  everything  still  more  for 
bidding  and  mysterious.  Then,  darkness  like 
death. 

Next  morning  the  crisp,  sunshiny  ah*  made 
even  the  Modoc  landscape  less  hopeless,  and 
we  ventured  down  the  bluff  to  the  edge  of  the 
Lava  Beds.  Just  at  the  foot  of  the  bluff  we 
came  to  a  square  enclosed  by  a  stone  wall.  This 
is  a  graveyard  where  lie  buried  thirty  soldiers, 
most  of  whom  met  their  fate  out  in  the  Lava 
Beds,  as  we  learn  by  the  boards  marking  the 
graves  —  a  gloomy  place  to  die  in,  and  deadly- 
looking  even  without  Modocs.  The  poor  fel 
lows  that  lie  here  deserve  far  more  pity  than 
they  have  ever  received.  Picking  our  way  over 
the  strange  ridges  and  hollows  of  the  beds,  we 
soon  came  to  a  circular  flat  about  twenty 
yards  in  diameter,  on  the  shore  of  the  lake, 
where  the  comparative  smoothness  of  the  lava 
and  a  few  handfuls  of  soil  have  caused  the 
grass  tufts  to  grow  taller.  This  is  where  Gen 
eral  Canby  was  slain  while  seeking  to  make 
peace  with  the  treacherous  Modocs. 

Two  or  three  miles  farther  on  is  the  main 
stronghold  of  the  Modocs,  held  by  them  so 
long  and  defiantly  against  all  the  soldiers  that 
could  be  brought  to  the  attack.  Indians  usu 
ally  choose  to  hide  in  tall  grass  and  bush  and 

94 


SHASTA  RAMBLES 

behind  trees,  where  they  can  crouch  and  glide 
like  panthers,  without  casting  up  defenses  that 
would  betray  their  positions;  but  the  Modoc 
castle  is  in  the  rock.  When  the  Yosemite 
Indians  made  raids  on  the  settlers  of  the  lower 
Merced,  they  withdrew  with  their  spoils  into 
Yosemite  Valley;  and  the  Modocs  boasted 
that  in  case  of  war  they  had  a  stone  house  into 
which  no  white  man  could  come  as  long  as  they 
cared  to  defend  it.  Yosemite  was  not  held  for  a 
single  day  against  the  pursuing  troops;  but  the 
Modocs  held  their  fort  for  months,  until,  weary 
of  being  hemmed  in,  they  chose  to  withdraw. 

It  consists  of  numerous  redoubts  formed  by 
the  unequal  subsidence  of  portions  of  the  lava- 
flow,  and  a  complicated  network  of  redans 
abundantly  supplied  with  salient  and  reenter- 
ing  angles,  being  united  each  to  the  other  and 
to  the  redoubts  by  a  labyrinth  of  open  and 
covered  corridors,  some  of  which  expand  at 
intervals  into  spacious  caverns,  forming  as  a 
whole  the  most  complete  natural  Gibraltar  I 
ever  saw.  Other  castles  scarcely  less  strong 
are  connected  with  this  by  subterranean  pas 
sages  known  only  to  the  Indians,  while  the 
unnatural  blackness  of  the  rock  out  of  which 
Nature  has  constructed  these  defenses,  and  the 
weird,  inhuman  physiognomy  of  the  whole 
region  are  well  calculated  to  inspire  terror. 
95 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Deadly  was  the  task  of  storming  such  a 
place.  The  breech-loading  rifles  of  the  Indians 
thrust  through  chinks  between  the  rocks  were 
ready  to  pick  off  every  soldier  who  showed  him 
self  for  a  moment,  while  the  Indians  lay  utterly 
invisible.  They  were  familiar  with  byways 
both  over  and  under  ground,  and  could  at  any 
time  sink  suddenly  out  of  sight  like  squirrels 
among  the  loose  boulders.  Our  bewildered 
soldiers  heard  them  shooting,  now  before,  now 
behind  them,  as  they  glided  from  place  to 
place  through  fissures  and  subterranean  passes, 
all  the  while  as  invisible  as  Gyges  wearing  his 
magic  ring.  To  judge  from  the  few  I  have  seen, 
Modocs  are  not  very  amiable-looking  people 
at  best.  When,  therefore,  they  were  crawling 
stealthily  in  the  gloomy  caverns,  unkempt  and 
begrimed  and  with  the  glare  of  war  in  their 
eyes,  they  must  have  seemed  very  demons  of 
the  volcanic  pit. 

Captain  Jack's  cave  is  one  of  the  many 
somber  cells  of  the  castle.  It  measures  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  feet  in  diameter  at  the  entrance, 
and  extends  but  a  short  distance  in  a  hori 
zontal  direction.  The  floor  is  littered  with  the 
bones  of  the  animals  slaughtered  for  food  dur 
ing  the  war.  Some  eager  archaeologist  may 
hereafter  discover  this  cabin  and  startle  his 
world  by  announcing  another  of  the  Stone  Age 
96 


SHASTA  RAMBLES 

caves.  The  sun  shines  freely  into  its  mouth, 
and  graceful  bunches  of  grass  and  eriogonums 
and  sage  grow  about  it,  doing  what  they  can 
toward  its  redemption  from  degrading  associ 
ations  and  making  it  beautiful. 

Where  the  lava  meets  the  lake  there  are  some 
fine  curving  bays,  beautifully  embroidered 
with  rushes  and  polygonums,  a  favorite  resort 
of  waterfowl.  On  our  return,  keeping  close 
along  shore,  we  caused  a  noisy  plashing  and 
beating  of  wings  among  cranes  and  geese.  The 
ducks,  less  wary,  kept  their  places,  merely 
swimming  in  and  out  through  openings  in  the 
rushes,  rippling  the  glassy  water,  and  raising 
spangles  in  their  wake.  The  countenance  of 
the  lava-beds  became  less  and  less  forbidding. 
Tufts  of  pale  grasses,  relieved  on  the  jet  rocks, 
looked  like  ornaments  on  a  mantel,  thick- 
furred  mats  of  emerald  mosses  appeared  in 
damp  spots  next  the  shore,  and  I  noticed  one 
tuft  of  small  ferns.  From  year  to  year  in  the 
kindly  weather  the  beds  are  thus  gathering 
beauty  —  beauty  for  ashes. 

Returning  to  Sheep  Rock  and  following  the 
old  emigrant  road,  one  is  soon  back  again  be 
neath  the  snows  and  shadows  of  Shasta,  and 
the  Ash  Creek  and  McCloud  Glaciers  come 
into  view  on  the  east  side  of  the  mountain. 
They  are  broad,  rugged,  crevassed  cloudlike 

97 


STEEP  TRAILS 

masses  of  down-grinding  ice,  pouring  forth 
streams  of  muddy  water  as  measures  of  the 
work  they  are  doing  in  sculpturing  the  rocks 
beneath  them;  very  unlike  the  long,  majestic 
glaciers  of  Alaska  that  riverlike  go  winding 
down  the  valleys  through  the  forests  to  the  sea. 
These,  with  a  few  others  as  yet  nameless,  are 
lingering  remnants  of  once  great  glaciers  that 
occupied  the  canons  now  taken  by  the  rivers, 
and  in  a  few  centuries  will,  under  present  con 
ditions,  vanish  altogether. 

The  rivers  of  the  granite  south  half  of  the 
Sierra  are  outspread  on  the  peaks  in  a  shining 
network  of  small  branches,  that  divide  again 
and  again  into  small  dribbling,  purling,  oozing 
threads  drawing  their  sources  from  the  snow 
and  ice  of  the  surface.  They  seldom  sink  out 
of  sight,  save  here  and  there  in  moraines  or 
glaciers,  or,  early  in  the  season,  beneath  banks 
and  bridges  of  snow,  soon  to  issue  again.  But 
in  the  north  half,  laden  with  rent  and  porous 
lava,  small  tributary  streams  are  rare,  and  the 
rivers,  flowing  for  a  time  beneath  the  sky  of 
rock,  at  length  burst  forth  into  the  light  in 
generous  volume  from  seams  and  caverns, 
filtered,  cool,  and  sparkling,  as  if  their  bondage 
in  darkness,  safe  from  the  vicissitudes  of  the 
weather  in  their  youth,  were  only  a  blessing. 

Only  a  very  small  portion  of  the  water  de- 


SHASTA  RAMBLES 

rived  from  the  melting  ice  and  snow  of  Shasta 
flows  down  its  flanks  on  the  surface.  Probably 
ninety-nine  per  cent  of  it  is  at  once  absorbed 
and  drained  away  beneath  the  porous  lava-folds 
of  the  mountain  to  gush  forth,  filtered  and  pure, 
in  the  form  of  immense  springs,  so  large,  some 
of  them,  that  they  give  birth  to  rivers  that 
start  on  their  journey  beneath  the  sun,  full- 
grown  and  perfect  without  any  childhood. 
Thus  the  Shasta  River  issues  from  a  large  lake- 
like  spring  in  Shasta  Valley,  and  about  two 
thirds  of  the  volume  of  the  McCloud  gushes 
forth  in  a  grand  spring  on  the  east  side  of  the 
mountain,  a  few  miles  back  from  its  immediate 
base. 

To  find  the  big  spring  of  the  McCloud,  or 
"Mud  Glacier,"  which  you  will  know  by  its 
size  (it  being  the  largest  on  the  east  side), 
you  make  your  way  through  sunny,  parklike 
woods  of  yellow  pine,  and  a  shaggy  growth  of 
chaparral,  and  come  in  a  few  hours  to  the 
river  flowing  in  a  gorge  of  moderate  depth,  cut 
abruptly  down  into  the  lava  plain.  Should  the 
volume  of  the  stream  where  you  strike  it  seem 
small,  then  you  will  know  that  you  are  above 
the  spring;  if  large,  nearly  equal  to  its  volume  at 
its  confluence  with  the  Pitt  River,  then  you  are 
below  it;  and  in  either  case  have  only  to  follow 
the  river  up  or  down  until  you  come  to  it. 

99 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Under  certain  conditions  you  may  hear  the 
roar  of  the  water  rushing  from  the  rock  at  a 
distance  of  half  a  mile,  or  even  more;  or  you 
may  not  hear  it  until  within  a  few  rods.  It 
comes  in  a  grand,  eager  gush  from  a  horizontal 
seam  hi  the  face  of  the  wall  of  the  river-gorge 
in  the  form  of  a  partially  interrupted  sheet 
nearly  seventy-five  yards  in  width,  and  at  a 
height  above  the  river-bed  of  about  forty  feet, 
as  nearly  as  I  could  make  out  without  the 
means  of  exact  measurement.  For  about  fifty 
yards  this  flat  current  is  in  one  unbroken  sheet, 
and  flows  in  a  lacework  of  plashing,  upleaping 
spray  over  boulders  that  are  clad  in  green  silky 
algae  and  water-mosses  to  meet  the  smaller 
part  of  the  river,  which  takes  its  rise  farther 
up.  Joining  the  river  at  right  angles  to  its 
course,  it  at  once  swells  its  volume  to  three 
tunes  its  size  above  the  spring. 

The  vivid  green  of  the  boulders  beneath  the 
water  is  very  striking,  and  colors  the  entire 
stream  with  the  exception  of  the  portions 
broken  into  foam.  The  color  is  chiefly  due  to 
a  species  of  algae  which  seems  common  in 
springs  of  this  sort.  That  any  kind  of  plant 
can  hold  on  and  grow  beneath  the  wear  of  so 
boisterous  a  current  seems  truly  wonderful, 
even  after  taking  into  consideration  the  free 
dom  of  the  water  from  cutting  drift,  and  the 

100 


SHASTA  RAMBLES 

constancy  of  its  volume  and  temperature 
throughout  the  year.  The  temperature  is  about 
45°,  and  the  height  of  the  river  above  the  sea  is 
here  about  three  thousand  feet.  Asplenium, 
epilobium,  heuchera,  hazel,  dogwood,  and  alder 
make  a  luxurious  fringe  and  setting;  and  the 
forests  of  Douglas  spruce  along  the  banks  are 
the  finest  I  have  ever  seen  in  the  Sierra. 

From  the  spring  you  may  go  with  the  river 
—  a  fine  traveling  companion  —  down  to  the 
sportsman's  fishing  station,  where,  if  you  are 
getting  hungry,  you  may  replenish  your  stores; 
or,  bearing  off  around  the  mountain  by  Huckle 
berry  Valley,  complete  your  circuit  without 
interruption,  emerging  at  length  from  beneath 
the  outspread  arms  of  the  sugar  pine  at  Straw 
berry  Valley,  with  all  the  new  wealth  and 
health  gathered  in  your  walk;  not  tired  in  the 
least,  and  only  eager  to  repeat  the  round. 

Tracing  rivers  to  their  fountains  makes  the 
most  charming  of  travels.  As  the  life-blood 
of  the  landscapes,  the  best  of  the  wilderness 
comes  to  their  banks,  and  not  one  dull  passage 
is  found  in  all  their  eventful  histories.  Tracing 
the  McCloud  to  its  highest  springs,  and  over 
the  divide  to  the  fountains  of  Fall  River,  near 
Fort  Crook,  thence  down  that  river  to  its  con 
fluence  with  the  Pitt,  on  from  there  to  the  vol 
canic  region  about  Lassen's  Butte,  through 
101 


STEEP  TRAILS 

the  Big  Meadows  among  the  sources  of  the 
Feather  River,  and  down  through  forests  of 
sugar  pine  to  the  fertile  plains  of  Chico  — this 
is  a  glorious  saunter  and  imposes  no  hardship. 
Food  may  be  had  at  moderate  intervals,  and 
the  whole  circuit  forms  one  ever-deepening, 
broadening  stream  of  enjoyment. 

Fall  River  is  a  very  remarkable  stream.  It  is 
only  about  ten  miles  long,  and  is  composed  of 
springs,  rapids,  and  falls  —  springs  beautifully 
shaded  at  one  end  of  it,  a  showy  fall  one  hun 
dred  and  eighty  feet  high  at  the  other,  and  a 
rush  of  crystal  rapids  between.  The  banks  are 
fringed  with  rubus,  rose,  plum,  cherry,  spiraea, 
azalea,  honeysuckle,  hawthorn,  ash,  alder, 
elder,  aster,  goldenrod,  beautiful  grasses, 
sedges,  rushes,  mosses,  and  ferns  with  fronds 
as  large  as  the  leaves  of  palms  —  all  in  the 
midst  of  a  richly  forested  landscape.  Nowhere 
within  the  limits  of  California  are  the  forests 
of  yellow  pine  so  extensive  and  exclusive  as  on 
the  headwaters  of  the  Pitt.  They  cover  the 
mountains  and  all  the  lower  slopes  that  border 
the  wide,  open  valleys  which  abound  there, 
pressing  forward  in  imposing  ranks,  seemingly 
the  hardiest  and  most  firmly  established  of  all 
the  northern  coniferse. 

The  volcanic  region  about  Lassen's  Butte  I 
have  already  in  part  described.   Miles  of  its 
102 


SHASTA  RAMBLES 

flanks  are  dotted  with  hot  springs,  many  of 
them  so  sulphurous  and  boisterous  and  noisy 
in  their  boiling  that  they  seem  inclined  to 
become  geysers  like  those  of  the  Yellowstone. 

The  ascent  of  Lassen's  Butte  is  an  easy  walk, 
and  the  views  from  the  summit  are  extremely 
telling.  Innumerable  lakes  and  craters  sur 
round  the  base;  forests  of  the  charming  Wil 
liamson  spruce  fringe  lake  and  crater  alike;  the 
sunbeaten  plains  to  east  and  west  make  a 
striking  show,  and  the  wilderness  of  peaks  and 
ridges  stretch  indefinitely  away  on  either  hand. 
The  lofty,  icy  Shasta,  towering  high  above  all, 
seems  but  an  hour's  walk  from  you,  though  the 
distance  in  an  air-line  is  about  sixty  miles. 

The  "Big  Meadows"  lie  near  the  foot  of 
Lassen's  Butte,  a  beautiful  spacious  basin  set 
in  the  heart  of  the  richly  forested  mountains, 
scarcely  surpassed  in  the  grandeur  of  its  sur 
roundings  by  Tahoe.  During  the  Glacial 
Period  it  was  a  mer  de  glace,  then  a  lake,  and 
now  a  level  meadow  shining  with  bountiful 
springs  and  streams.  In  the  number  and  size 
of  its  big  spring  fountains  it  excels  even  Shasta. 
One  of  the  largest  that  I  measured  forms  a 
lakelet  nearly  a  hundred  yards  in  diameter, 
and,  in  the  generous  flood  it  sends  forth  offers 
one  of  the  most  telling  symbols  of  Nature's 
affluence  to  be  found  in  the  mountains. 

103 


STEEP  TRAILS 

The  great  wilds  of  our  country,  once  held  to 
be  boundless  and  inexhaustible,  are  being  rap 
idly  invaded  and  overrun  in  every  direction, 
and  everything  destructible  in  them  is  being 
destroyed.  How  far  destruction  may  go  it  is 
not  easy  to  guess.  Every  landscape,  low  and 
high,  seems  doomed  to  be  trampled  and  harried. 
Even  the  sky  is  not  safe  from  scath  —  blurred 
and  blackened  whole  summers  together  with 
the  smoke  of  fires  that  devour  the  woods. 

The  Shasta  region  is  still  a  fresh  unspoiled 
wilderness,  accessible  and  available  for  travel 
ers  of  every  kind  and  degree.  Would  it  not 
then  be  a  fine  thing  to  set  it  apart  like  the 
Yellowstone  and  Yosemite  as  a  National  Park 
for  the  welfare  and  benefit  of  all  mankind,  pre 
serving  its  fountains  and  forests  and  all  its 
glad  life  hi  primeval  beauty?  Very  little  of 
the  region  can  ever  be  more  valuable  for  any 
other  use  —  certainly  not  for  gold  nor  for 
grain.  No  private  right  or  interest  need  suffer, 
and  thousands  yet  unborn  would  come  from 
far  and  near  and  bless  the  country  for  its  wise 
and  benevolent  forethought. 


VI 

THE  CITY  OF  THE  SAINTS  1 

THE  mountains  rise  grandly  round  about 
this  curious  city,  the  Zion  of  the  new  Saints,  so 
grandly  that  the  city  itself  is  hardly  visible. 
The  Wahsatch  Range,  snow-laden  and  adorned 
with  glacier-sculptured  peaks,  stretches  con 
tinuously  along  the  eastern  horizon,  forming 
the  boundary  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake  Basin; 
while  across  the  valley  of  the  Jordan  south- 
westward  from  here,  you  behold  the  Oquirrh 
Range,  about  as  snowy  and  lofty  as  the 
Wahsatch.  To  the  northwest  your  eye  skims 
the  blue  levels  of  the  great  lake,  out  of  the 
midst  of  which  rise  island  mountains,  and  be 
yond,  at  a  distance  of  fifty  miles,  is  seen  the 
picturesque  wall  of  the  lakeside  mountains 
blending  with  the  lake  and  the  sky. 

The  glacial  developments  of  these  superb 
ranges  are  sharply  sculptured  peaks  and  crests, 
with  ample  wombs  between  them  where  the 
ancient  snows  of  the  glacial  period  were  col 
lected  and  transformed  into  ice,  and  ranks  of 

1  Letter  dated  "Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  May  15,  1877." 
[Editor.] 

105 


STEEP  TRAILS 

profound  shadowy  canons,  while  moraines 
commensurate  with  the  lofty  fountains  extend 
into  the  valleys,  forming  far  the  grandest  series 
of  glacial  monuments  I  have  yet  seen  this  side 
of  the  Sierra. 

In  beginning  this  letter  I  meant  to  describe 
the  city,  but  in  the  company  of  these  noble  old 
mountains,  it  is  not  easy  to  bend  one's  atten 
tion  upon  anything  else.  Salt  Lake  cannot  be 
called  a  very  beautiful  town,  neither  is  there 
anything  ugly  or  repulsive  about  it.  From  the 
slopes  of  the  Wahsatch  foothills,  or  old  lake 
benches,  toward  Fort  Douglas  it  is  seen  to 
occupy  the  sloping  gravelly  delta  of  City 
Creek,  a  fine,  hearty  stream  that  comes  pouring 
from  the  snows  of  the  mountains  through  a 
majestic  glacial  canon;  and  it  is  just  where  this 
stream  comes  forth  into  the  light  on  the  edge 
of  the  valley  of  the  Jordan  that  the  Mormons 
have  built  their  new  Jerusalem. 

At  first  sight  there  is  nothing  very  marked 
in  the  external  appearance  of  the  town  except 
ing  its  leafiness.  Most  of  the  houses  are  veiled 
with  trees,  as  if  set  down  in  the  midst  of  one 
grand  orchard;  and  seen  at  a  little  distance 
they  appear  like  a  field  of  glacier  boulders 
overgrown  with  aspens,  such  as  one  often  meets 
in  the  upper  valleys  of  the  California  Sierra, 
for  only  the  angular  roofs  are  clearly  visible. 

106 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  SAINTS 

Perhaps  nineteen  twentieths  of  the  houses 
are  built  of  bluish-gray  adobe  bricks,  and  are 
only  one  or  two  stories  high,  forming  fine  cot 
tage  homes  which  promise  simple  comfort 
within.  They  are  set  well  back  from  the  street, 
leaving  room  for  a  flower  garden,  while  almost 
every  one  has  a  thrifty  orchard  at  the  sides  and 
around  the  back.  The  gardens  are  laid  out 
with  great  simplicity,  indicating  love  for  flow 
ers  by  people  comparatively  poor,  rather  than 
deliberate  efforts  of  the  rich  for  showy  artistic 
effects.  They  are  like  the  pet  gardens  of  chil 
dren,  about  as  artless  and  humble,  and  har 
monize  with  the  low  dwellings  to  which  they 
belong.  In  almost  every  one  you  find  daisies, 
and  mint,  and  lilac  bushes,  and  rows  of  plain 
English  tulips.  Lilacs  and  tulips  are  the  most 
characteristic  flowers,  and  nowhere  have  I 
seen  them  in  greater  perfection.  As  Oakland 
is  preeminently  a  city  of  roses,  so  is  this  Mor 
mon  Saints7  Rest  a  city  of  lilacs  and  tulips. 
The  flowers,  at  least,  are  saintly,  and  they  are 
surely  loved.  Scarce  a  home,  however  obscure, 
is  without  them,  and  the  simple,  unostentatious 
manner  in  which  they  are  planted  and  gathered 
in  pots  and  boxes  about  the  windows  shows 
how  truly  they  are  prized. 

The  surrounding  commons,  the  marshy 
levels  of  the  Jordan,  and  dry,  gravelly  lake 

107 


STEEP  TRAILS 

benches  on  the  slopes  of  the  Wahsatch  foot 
hills  are  now  gay*  with  wild  flowers,  chief 
among  which  are  a  species  of  phlox,  with  an 
abundance  of  rich  pink  corollas,  growing  among 
sagebrush  in  showy  tufts,  and  a  beautiful 
papilionaceous  plant,  with  silky  leaves  and 
large  clusters  of  purple  flowers,  banner,  wings, 
and  keel  exquisitely  shaded,  a  mertensia, 
hydrophyllum,  white  boragewort,  orthocarpus, 
several  species  of  violets,  and  a  tall  scarlet  gilia. 
It  is  delightful  to  see  how  eagerly  all  these 
are  sought  after  by  the  children,  both  boys  and 
girls.  Every  day  that  I  have  gone  botanizing 
I  have  met  groups  of  little  Latter-Days  with 
their  precious  bouquets,  and  at  such  times  it 
was  hard  to  believe  the  dark,  bloody  passages 
of  Mormon  history. 

But  to  return  to  the  city.  As  soon  as  City 
Creek  approaches  its  upper  limit  its  waters  are 
drawn  off  right  and  left,  and  distributed  in 
brisk  rills,  one  on  each  side  of  every  street,  the 
regular  slopes  of  the  delta  upon  which  the  city 
is  built  being  admirably  adapted  to  this  system 
of  street  irrigation.  These  streams  are  all  pure 
and  sparkling  in  the  upper  streets,  but,  as 
they  are  used  to  some  extent  as  sewers,  they 
soon  manifest  the  consequence  of  contact  with 
civilization,  though  the  speed  of  their  flow  pre 
vents  their  becoming  offensive,  and  little  Saints 

108 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  SAINTS 

not  over  particular  may  be  seen  drinking  from 
them  everywhere. 

The  streets  are  remarkably  wide  and  the 
buildings  low,  making  them  appear  yet  wider 
than  they  really  are.  Trees  are  planted  along 
the  sidewalks  —  elms,  poplars,  maples,  and  a 
few  catalpas  and  hawthorns;  yet  they  are 
mostly  small  and  irregular,  and  nowhere  form 
avenues  half  so  leafy  and  imposing  as  one 
would  be  led  to  expect.  Even  in  the  business 
streets  there  is  but  little  regularity  hi  the 
buildings  —  now  a  row  of  plain  adobe  struc 
tures,  half  store,  half  dwelling,  then  a  high 
mercantile  block  of  red  brick  or  sandstone, 
and  again  a  row  of  adobe  cottages  nestled  back 
among  apple  trees.  There  is  one  immense 
store  with  its  sign  upon  the  roof,  in  letters  big 
enough  to  be  read  miles  away,  "Z.C.M.I." 
(Zion's  Cooperative  Mercantile  Institution), 
while  many  a  small,  codfishy  corner  grocery 
bears  the  legend  "Holiness  to  the  Lord, 
Z.C.M.I."  But  little  evidence  will  you  find  in 
this  Zion,  with  its  fifteen  thousand  souls,  of 
great  wealth,  though  many  a  Saint  is  seeking 
it  as  keenly  as  any  Yankee  Gentile.  But  on 
the  other  hand,  searching  throughout  all  the 
city,  you  will  not  find  any  trace  of  squalor  or 
extreme  poverty. 

Most  of  the  women  I  have  chanced  to  meet, 

109 


STEEP  TRAILS 

especially  those  from  the  country,  have  a 
weary,  repressed  look,  as  if  for  the  sake  of  their 
religion  they  were  patiently  carrying  burdens 
heavier  than  they  were  well  able  to  bear.  But, 
strange  as  it  must  seem  to  Gentiles,  the  many 
wives  of  one  man,  instead  of  being  repelled 
from  one  another  by  jealousy,  appear  to  be 
drawn  all  the  closer  together,  as  if  the  real 
marriage  existed  between  the  wives  only. 
Groups  of  half  a  dozen  or  so  may  frequently  be 
seen  on  the  streets  in  close  conversation,  look 
ing  as  innocent  and  unspeculative  as  a  lot  of 
heifers,  while  the  masculine  Saints  pass  them 
by  as  if  they  belonged  to  a  distinct  species.  In 
the  Tabernacle  last  Sunday,  one  of  the  elders 
of  the  church,  in  discoursing  upon  the  good 
things  of  life,  the  possessions  of  Latter-Day 
Saints,  enumerated  fruitful  fields,  horses,  cows, 
wives,  and  implements,  the  wives  being  placed 
as  above,  between  the  cows  and  implements, 
without  receiving  any  superior  emphasis. 

Polygamy,  as  far  as  I  have  observed,  exerts 
a  more  degrading  influence  upon  husbands  than 
upon  wives.  The  love  of  the  latter  finds  expres 
sion  in  flowers  and  children,  while  the  former 
seem  to  be  rendered  incapable  of  pure  love  of 
anything.  The  spirit  of  Mormonism  is  in 
tensely  exclusive  and  un-American.  A  more 
withdrawn,  compact,  sealed-up  body  of  people 
no 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  SAINTS 

could  hardly  be  found  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
than  is  gathered  here,  notwithstanding  rail 
roads,  telegraphs,  and  the  penetrating  lights 
that  go  sifting  through  society  everywhere  hi 
this  revolutionary,  question-asking  century. 
Most  of  the  Mormons  I  have  met  seem  to  be 
in  a  state  of  perpetual  apology,  which  can 
hardly  be  fully  accounted  for  by  Gentile 
attacks.  At  any  rate  it  is  unspeakably  offen 
sive  to  any  free  man. 

"We  Saints,"  they  are  continually  saying, 
"are  not  as  bad  as  we  are  called.  We  don't 
murder  those  who  differ  with  us,  but  rather 
treat  them  with  all  charity.  You  may  go 
through  our  town  night  or  day  and  no  harm 
shall  befall  you.  Go  into  our  houses  and  you 
will  be  well  used.  We  are  as  glad  as  you  are 
that  Lee  was  punished,"  etc.  While  taking 
a  saunter  the  other  evening  we  were  overtaken 
by  a  characteristic  Mormon,  "an  'umble  man," 
who  made  us  a  very  deferential  salute  and  then 
walked  on  with  us  about  half  a  mile.  We  dis 
cussed  whatsoever  of  Mormon  doctrines  came 
to  mind  with  American  freedom,  which  he 
defended  as  best  he  could,  speaking  in  an 
excited  but  deprecating  tone.  When  hard 
pressed  he  would  say:  "I  don't  understand 
these  deep  things,  but  the  elders  do.  I  'm  only 
an  'umble  tradesman."  In  taking  leave  he 
in 


STEEP  TRAILS 

thanked  us  for  the  pleasure  of  our  querulous 
conversation,  removed  his  hat,  and  bowed 
lowly  in  a  sort  of  Uriah  Heep  manner,  and 
then  went  to  his  humble  home.  How  many 
humble  wives  it  contained,  we  did  not  learn. 

Fine  specimens  of  manhood  are  by  no  means 
wanting,  but  the  number  of  people  one  meets 
here  who  have  some  physical  defect  or  who 
attract  one's  attention  by  some  mental  pecu 
liarity  that  manifests  itself  through  the  eyes, 
is  astonishingly  great  in  so  small  a  city.  It 
would  evidently  be  unfair  to  attribute  these 
defects  to  Mormonism,  though  Mormonism 
has  undoubtedly  been  the  magnet  that  elected 
and  drew  these  strange  people  together  from 
all  parts  of  the  world. 

But  however  "the  peculiar  doctrines"  and 
"peculiar  practices"  of  Mormonism  have 
affected  the  bodies  and  the  minds  of  the  old 
Saints,  the  little  Latter-Day  boys  and  girls  are 
as  happy  and  natural  as  possible,  running  wild, 
with  plenty  of  good  hearty  parental  indulgence, 
playing,  fighting,  gathering  flowers  in  delight 
ful  innocence;  and  when  we  consider  that  most 
of  the  parents  have  been  drawn  from  the  thickly 
settled  portion  of  the  Old  World,  where  they 
have  long  suffered  the  repression  of  hunger  and 
hard  toil,  these  Mormon  children,  "Utah's  best 
crop,"  seem  remarkably  bright  and  promising. 
112 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  SAINTS 

From  children  one  passes  naturally  into  the 
blooming  wilderness,  to  the  pure  religion  of 
sunshine  and  snow,  where  all  the  good  and  the 
evil  of  this  strange  people  lifts  and  vanishes 
from  the  mind  like  mist  from  the  mountains. 


VII 

A  GREAT  STORM  IN  UTAH  * 

UTAH  has  just  been  blessed  with  one  of  the 
grandest  storms  I  have  ever  beheld  this  side 
of  the  Sierra.  The  mountains  are  laden  with 
fresh  snow;  wild  streams  are  swelling  and 
booming  adown  the  canons,  and  out  in  the 
valley  of  the  Jordan  a  thousand  rain-pools  are 
gleaming  in  the  sun. 

With  reference  to  the  development  of  fertile 
storms  bearing  snow  and  rain,  the  greater 
portion  of  the  calendar  springtime  of  Utah  has 
been  winter.  In  all  the  upper  canons  of  the 
mountains  the  snow  is  now  from  five  to  ten 
feet  deep  or  more,  and  most  of  it  has  fallen 
since  March.  Almost  every  other  day  during 
the  last  three  weeks  small  local  storms  have 
been  falling  on  the  Wahsatch  and  Oquirrh 
Mountains,  while  the  Jordan  Valley  remained 
dry  and  sun-filled.  But  on  the  afternoon  of 
Thursday,  the  17th  ultimo,  wind,  rain,  and 
snow  filled  the  whole  basin,  driving  wildly 
over  valley  and  plain  from  range  to  range,  be 
stowing  their  benefactions  in  most  cordial  and 

1  Letter  dated  "Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  May  19,  1877." 
[Editor.] 

114 


A  GREAT  STORM  IN  UTAH 

harmonious  storm-measures.  The  oldest  Saints 
say  they  have  never  witnessed  a  more  violent 
storm  of  this  kind  since  the  first  settlement  of 
Zion,  and  while  the  gale  from  the  northwest, 
with  which  the  storm  began,  was  rocking  their 
adobe  walls,  uprooting  trees  and  darkening  the 
streets  with  billows  of  dust  and  sand,  some  of 
them  seemed  inclined  to  guess  that  the  terrible 
phenomenon  was  one  of  the  signs  of  the  times 
of  which  their  preachers  are  so  constantly  re 
minding  them,  the  beginning  of  the  outpouring 
of  the  treasured  wrath  of  the  Lord  upon  the 
Gentiles  for  the  killing  of  Joseph  Smith.  To 
me  it  seemed  a  cordial  outpouring  of  Nature's 
love;  but  it  is  easy  to  differ  with  salt  Latter- 
Days  in  everything  —  storms,  wives,  politics, 
and  religion. 

About  an  hour  before  the  storm  reached  the 
city  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  be  out  with  a 
friend  on  the  banks  of  the  Jordan  enjoying  the 
scenery.  Clouds,  with  peculiarly  restless  and 
self-conscious  gestures,  were  marshaling  them 
selves  along  the  mountain-tops,  and  sending 
out  long,  overlapping  wings  across  the  valley; 
and  even  where  no  cloud  was  visible,  an  ob 
scuring  film  absorbed  the  sunlight,  giving  rise 
to  a  cold,  bluish  darkness.  Nevertheless,  dis 
tant  objects  along  the  boundaries  of  the  land 
scape  were  revealed  with  wonderful  distinct- 

115 


STEEP  TRAILS 

ness  in  this  weird,  subdued,  cloud-sifted  light. 
The  mountains,  in  particular,  with  the  forests 
on  their  flanks,  their  mazy  lacelike  canons,  the 
wombs  of  the  ancient  glaciers,  and  their  mar 
velous  profusion  of  ornate  sculpture,  were  most 
impressively  manifest.  One  would  fancy  that 
a  man  might  be  clearly  seen  walking  on  the 
snow  at  a  distance  of  twenty  or  thirty  miles. 
While  we  were  reveling  in  this  rare,  ungarish 
grandeur,  turning  from  range  to  range,  study 
ing  the  darkening  sky  and  listening  to  the  still 
small  voices  of  the  flowers  at  our  feet,  some  of 
the  denser  clouds  came  down,  crowning  and 
wreathing  the  highest  peaks  and  dropping  long 
gray  fringes  whose  smooth  linear  structure 
showed  that  snow  was  beginning  to  fall.  Of 
these  partial  storms  there  were  soon  ten  or 
twelve,  arranged  in  two  rows,  while  the  main 
Jordan  Valley  between  them  lay  as  yet  in  pro 
found  calm.  At  4.30  P.M.  a  dark  brownish 
cloud  appeared  close  down  on  the  plain  to 
wards  the  lake,  extending  from  the  northern 
extremity  of  the  Oquirrh  Range  in  a  north 
easterly  direction  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 
Its  peculiar  color  and  structure  excited  our 
attention  without  enabling  us  to  decide  cer 
tainly  as  to  its  character,  but  we  were  not  left 
long  in  doubt,  for  hi  a  few  minutes  it  came 
sweeping  over  the  valley  in  wild  uproar,  a 
116 


A  GREAT  STORM  IN  UTAH 

torrent  of  wind  thick  with  sand  and  dust, 
advancing  with  a  most  majestic  front,  rolling 
and  overcombing  like  a  gigantic  sea-wave. 
Scarcely  was  it  in  plain  sight  ere  it  was  upon 
us,  racing  across  the  Jordan,  over  the  city,  and 
up  the  slopes  of  the  Wahsatch,  eclipsing  all 
the  landscapes  hi  its  course  —  the  bending 
trees,  the  dust  streamers,  and  the  wild  onrush 
of  everything  movable  giving  it  an  appreciable 
visibility  that  rendered  it  grand  and  inspiring. 

This  gale  portion  of  the  storm  lasted  over 
an  hour,  then  down  came  the  blessed  rain  and 
the  snow  all  through  the  night  and  the  next 
day,  the  snow  and  rain  alternating  and  blending 
in  the  valley.  It  is  long  since  I  have  seen  snow 
coming  into  a  city.  The  crystal  flakes  falling 
hi  the  foul  streets  was  a  pitiful  sight. 

Notwithstanding  the  vaunted  refining  influ 
ences  of  towns,  purity  of  all  kinds  —  pure 
hearts,  pure  streams,  pure  snow  —  must  here 
be  exposed  to  terrible  trials.  City  Creek,  com 
ing  from  its  high  glacial  fountains,  enters  the 
streets  of  this  Mormon  Zion  pure  as  an  angel, 
but  how  does  it  leave  it?  Even  roses  and  lilies 
in  gardens  most  loved  are  tainted  with  a  thou 
sand  impurities  as  soon  as  they  unfold.  I  heard 
Brigham  Young  in  the  Tabernacle  the  other 
day  warning  his  people  that  if  they  did  not 
mend  their  manners  angels  would  not  come 

117 


STEEP  TRAILS 

into  their  houses,  though  perchance  they  might 
be  sauntering  by  with  little  else  to  do  than  chat 
with  them.  Possibly  there  may  be  Salt  Lake 
families  sufficiently  pure  for  angel  society,  but 
I  was  not  pleased  with  the  reception  they  gave 
the  small  snow  angels  that  God  sent  among 
them  the  other  night.  Only  the  children  hailed 
them  with  delight.  The  old  Latter- Days  seemed 
to  shun  them.  I  should  like  to  see  how  Mr. 
Young,  the  Lake  Prophet,  would  meet  such 
messengers. 

But  to  return  to  the  storm.  Toward  the  even 
ing  of  the  18th  it  began  to  wither.  The  snowy 
skirts  of  the  Wahsatch  Mountains  appeared 
beneath  the  lifting  fringes  of  the  clouds,  and 
the  sun  shone  out  through  colored  windows, 
producing  one  of  the  most  glorious  after-storm 
effects  I  ever  witnessed.  Looking  across  the 
Jordan,  the  gray  sagey  slopes  from  the  base  of 
the  Oquirrh  Mountains  were  covered  with  a 
thick,  plushy  cloth  of  gold,  soft  and  ethereal 
as  a  cloud,  not  merely  tinted  and  gilded  like  a 
rock  with  autumn  sunshine,  but  deeply  muffled 
beyond  recognition.  Surely  nothing  in  heaven, 
nor  any  mansion  of  the  Lord  in  all  his  worlds, 
could  be  more  gloriously  carpeted.  Other  por 
tions  of  the  plain  were  flushed  with  red  and 
purple,  and  all  the  mountains  and  the  clouds 
above  them  were  painted  in  corresponding 
118 


A  GREAT  STORM  IN  UTAH 

loveliness.  Earth  and  sky,  round  and  round 
the  entire  landscape,  was  one  ravishing  reve 
lation  of  color,  infinitely  varied  and  inter- 
blended. 

I  have  seen  many  a  glorious  sunset  beneath 
lifting  storm-clouds  on  the  mountains,  but 
nothing  comparable  with  this.  I  felt  as  if  new- 
arrived  in  some  other  far-off  world.  The  moun 
tains,  the  plains,  the  sky,  all  seemed  new. 
Other  experiences  seemed  but  to  have  prepared 
me  for  this,  as  souls  are  prepared  for  heaven. 
To  describe  the  colors  on  a  single  mountain 
would,  if  it  were  possible  at  all,  require  many 
a  volume  —  purples,  and  yellows,  and  deli 
cious  pearly  grays  divinely  toned  and  inter- 
blended,  and  so  richly  put  on  one  seemed  to  be 
looking  down  through  the  ground  as  through  a 
sky.  The  disbanding  clouds  lingered  lovingly 
about  the  mountains,  filling  the  canons  like 
tinted  wool,  rising  and  drooping  around  the 
topmost  peaks,  fondling  their  rugged  bases,  or, 
sailing  alongside,  trailed  their  lustrous  fringes 
through  the  pines  as  if  taking  a  last  view  of 
their  accomplished  work.  Then  came  dark 
ness,  and  the  glorious  day  was  done. 

This  afternoon  the  Utah  mountains  and  val 
leys  seem  to  belong  to  our  own  very  world 
again.  They  are  covered  with  common  sun 
shine.  Down  here  on  the  banks  of  the  Jordan, 

119 


STEEP  TRAILS 

larks  and  redwings  are  swinging  on  the  rushes; 
the  balmy  air  is  instinct  with  immortal  life; 
the  wild  flowers,  the  grass,  and  the  farmers' 
grain  are  fresh  as  if,  like  the  snow,  they  had 
come  out  of  heaven,  and  the  last  of  the  angel 
clouds  are  fleeing  from  the  mountains. 


VIII 

BATHING  IN  SALT  LAKE  1 

WHEN  the  north  wind  blows,  bathing  in  Salt 
Lake  is  a  glorious  baptism,  for  then  it  is  all 
wildly  awake  with  waves,  blooming  like  a 
prairie  in  snowy  crystal  foam.  Plunging  con 
fidently  into  the  midst  of  the  grand  uproar  you 
are  hugged  and  welcomed,  and  swim  without 
effort,  rocking  and  heaving  up  and  down,  hi 
delightful  rhythm,  while  the  winds  sing  in 
chorus  and  the  cool,  fragrant  brine  searches 
every  fiber  of  your  body;  and  at  length  you 
are  tossed  ashore  with  a  glad  Godspeed,  braced 
and  salted  and  clean  as  a  saint. 

The  nearest  point  on  the  shore-line  is  dis 
tant  about  ten  miles  from  Salt  Lake  City,  and 
is  almost  inaccessible  on  account  of  the  boggy 
character  of  the  ground,  but,  by  taking  the 
Western  Utah  Railroad,  at  a  distance  of  twenty 
miles  you  reach  what  is  called  Lake  Point, 
where  the  shore  is  gravelly  and  wholesome  and 
abounds  in  fine  retreating  bays  that  seem  to 
have  been  made  on  purpose  for  bathing.  Here 
the  northern  peaks  of  the  Oquirrh  Range  plant 

1  Letter  dated  "Lake  Point,  Utah,  May  20,  1877."    [Ed 
itor.] 

121 


STEEP  TRAILS 

their  feet  in  the  clear  blue  brine,  with  fine 
curving  insteps,  leaving  no  space  for  muddy 
levels.  The  crystal  brightness  of  the  water,  the 
wild  flowers,  and  the  lovely  mountain  scenery 
make  this  a  favorite  summer  resort  for  pleas 
ure  and  health  seekers.  Numerous  excursion 
trains  are  run  from  the  city,  and  parties,  some 
of  them  numbering  upwards  of  a  thousand, 
come  to  bathe,  and  dance,  and  roam  the  flow 
ery  hillsides  together. 

But  at  the  time  of  my  first  visit  in  May,  I 
fortunately  found  myself  alone.  The  hotel  and 
bathhouse,  which  form  the  chief  improvements 
of  the  place,  were  sleeping  in  winter  silence, 
notwithstanding  the  year  was  in  full  bloom. 
It  was  one  of  those  genial  sun-days  when 
flowers  and  flies  come  thronging  to  the  light, 
and  birds  sing  their  best.  The  mountain-ranges, 
stretching  majestically  north  and  south,  were 
piled  with  pearly  cumuli,  the  sky  overhead  was 
pure  azure,  and  the  wind-swept  lake  was  all 
aroll  and  aroar  with  whitecaps. 

I  sauntered  along  the  shore  until  I  came  to 
a  sequestered  cove,  where  buttercups  and  wild 
peas  were  blooming  close  down  to  the  limit 
reached  by  the  waves.  Here,  I  thought,  is  just 
the  place  for  a  bath;  but  the  breakers  seemed 
terribly  boisterous  and  forbidding  as  they  came 
rolling  up  the  beach,  or  dashed  white  against 

122 


BATHING  IN  SALT  LAKE 

the  rocks  that  bounded  the  cove  on  the  east. 
The  outer  ranks,  ever  broken,  ever  builded, 
formed  a  magnificent  rampart,  sculptured  and 
corniced  like  the  hanging  wall  of  a  bergschrund, 
and  appeared  hopelessly  insurmountable,  how 
ever  easily  one  might  ride  the  swelling  waves 
beyond.  I  feasted  awhile  on  their  beauty, 
watching  their  coming  in  from  afar  like  faith 
ful  messengers,  to  tell  their  stories  one  by  one; 
then  I  turned  reluctantly  away,  to  botanize 
and  wait  a  calm.  But  the  calm  did  not  come 
that  day,  nor  did  I  wait  long.  In  an  hour  or 
two  I  was  back  again  to  the  same  little  cove. 
The  waves  still  sang  the  old  storm  song,  and 
rose  in  high  crystal  walls,  seemingly  hard 
enough  to  be  cut  in  sections,  like  ice. 

Without  any  definite  determination  I  found 
myself  undressed,  as  if  some  one  else  had  taken 
me  in  hand;  and  while  one  of  the  largest  waves 
was  ringing  out  its  message  and  spending  itself 
on  the  beach,  I  ran  out  with  open  arms  to  the 
next,  ducked  beneath  its  breaking  top,  and  got 
myself  into  right  lusty  relationship  with  the 
brave  old  lake.  Away  I  sped  in  free,  glad  mo 
tion,  as  if,  like  a  fish,  I  had  been  afloat  all  my 
life,  now  low  out  of  sight  in  the  smooth,  glassy 
valleys,  now  bounding  aloft  on  firm  combing 
crests,  while  the  crystal  foam  beat  against  my 
breast  with  keen,  crisp  clashing,  as  if  composed 

123 


STEEP  TRAILS 

of  pure  salt.  I  bowed  to  every  wave,  and  each 
lifted  me  right  royally  to  its  shoulders,  almost 
setting  me  erect  on  my  feet,  while  they  all  went 
speeding  by  like  living  creatures,  blooming  and 
rejoicing  in  the  brightness  of  the  day,  and 
chanting  the  history  of  their  grand  mountain 
home. 

A  good  deal  of  nonsense  has  been  written 
concerning  the  difficulty  of  swimming  in  this 
heavy  water.  "One's  head  would  go  down, 
and  heels  come  up,  and  the  acrid  brine  would 
burn  like  fire."  I  was  conscious  only  of  a  joy 
ous  exhilaration,  my  limbs  seemingly  heeding 
their  own  business,  without  any  discomfort  or 
confusion;  so  much  so,  that  without  previous 
knowledge  my  experience  on  this  occasion 
would  not  have  led  me  to  detect  anything 
peculiar.  In  calm  weather,  however,  the  sus 
taining  power  of  the  water  might  probably  be 
more  marked.  This  was  by  far  the  most  excit 
ing  and  effective  wave  excursion  I  ever  made 
this  side  of  the  Rocky  Mountains;  and  when 
at  its  close  I  was  heaved  ashore  among  the 
sunny  grasses  and  flowers,  I  found  myself  a 
new  creature  indeed,  and  went  bounding  along 
the  beach  with  blood  all  aglow,  reinforced  by 
the  best  salts  of  the  mountains,  and  ready  for 
any  race. 

Since  the  completion  of  the  transcontinental 

124 


BATHING  IN  SALT  LAKE 

and  Utah  railways,  this  magnificent  lake  in 
the  heart  of  the  continent  has  become  as  acces 
sible  as  any  watering-place  on  either  coast;  and 
I  am  sure  that  thousands  of  travelers,  sick  and 
well,  would  throng  its  shores  every  summer 
were  its  merits  but  half  known.  Lake  Point  is 
only  an  hour  or  two  from  the  city,  and  has  hotel 
accommodations  and  a  steamboat  for  excur 
sions;  and  then,  besides  the  bracing  waters, 
the  climate  is  delightful.  The  mountains  rise 
into  the  cool  sky  furrowed  with  canons  almost 
yosemitic  in  grandeur,  and  filled  with  a  glori 
ous  profusion  of  flowers  and  trees.  Lovers  of 
science,  lovers  of  wildness,  lovers  of  pure  rest 
will  find  here  more  than  they  may  hope  for. 

As  for  the  Mormons  one  meets,  however 
their  doctrines  be  regarded,  they  will  be  found 
as  rich  in  human  kindness  as  any  people  in  all 
our  broad  land,  while  the  dark  memories  that 
cloud  their  earlier  history  will  vanish  from  the 
mind  as  completely  as  when  we  bathe  hi  the 
fountain  azure  of  the  Sierra. 


IX 

MORMON  LILIES  1 

LILIES  are  rare  in  Utah;  so  also  are  their 
companions  the  ferns  and  orchids,  chiefly  on 
account  of  the  fiery  saltness  of  the  soil  and  cli 
mate.  You  may  walk  the  deserts  of  the  Great 
Basin  in  the  bloom  time  of  the  year,  all  the  way 
across  from  the  snowy  Sierra  to  the  snowy 
Wahsatch,  and  your  eyes  will  be  filled  with 
many  a  gay  malva,  and  poppy,  and  abronia, 
and  cactus,  but  you  may  not  see  a  single  true 
lily,  and  only  a  very  few  liliaceous  plants  of 
any  kind.  Not  even  in  the  cool,  fresh  glens  of 
the  mountains  will  you  find  these  favorite 
flowers,  though  some  of  these  desert  ranges 
almost  rival  the  Sierra  in  height.  Neverthe 
less,  in  the  building  and  planting  of  this  grand 
Territory  the  lilies  were  not  forgotten.  Far 
back  in  the  dim  geologic  ages,  when  the  sedi 
ments  of  the  old  seas  were  being  gathered  and 
outspread  in  smooth  sheets  like  leaves  of  a 
book,  and  when  these  sediments  became  dry 
land,  and  were  baked  and  crumbled  into  the 
sky  as  mountain-ranges;  when  the  lava-floods 
of  the  Fire  Period  were  being  lavishly  poured 

i  Letter  dated' 'Salt  Lake,  July,  1877."  [Editor.] 
126 


MORMON  LILIES 

forth  from  innumerable  rifts  and  craters;  when 
the  ice  of  the  Glacial  Period  was  laid  like  a 
mantle  over  every  mountain  and  valley  — 
throughout  all  these  immensely  protracted 
periods,  in  the  throng  of  these  majestic  opera 
tions,  Nature  kept  her  flower  children  in  mind. 
She  considered  the  lilies,  and,  while  planting 
the  plains  with  sage  and  the  hills  with  cedar, 
she  has  covered  at  least  one  mountain  with 
golden  erythroniums  and  fritillarias  as  its 
crowning  glory,  as  if  willing  to  show  what  she 
could  do  in  the  lily  line  even  here. 

Looking  southward  from  the  south  end  of 
Salt  Lake,  the  two  northmost  peaks  of  the 
Oquirrh  Range  are  seen  swelling  calmly  into 
the  cool  sky  without  any  marked  character, 
excepting  only  their  snow  crowns,  and  a  few 
small  weedy-looking  patches  of  spruce  and  fir, 
the  simplicity  of  their  slopes  preventing  their 
real  loftiness  from  being  appreciated.  Gray, 
sagey  plains  circle  around  their  bases,  and  up 
to  a  height  of  a  thousand  feet  or  more  their 
sides  are  tinged  with  purple,  which  I  after 
wards  found  is  produced  by  a  close  growth  of 
dwarf  oak  just  coming  into  leaf.  Higher  you 
may  detect  faint  tintings  of  green  on  a  gray 
ground,  from  young  grasses  and  sedges;  then 
come  the  dark  pine  woods  filling  glacial  hol 
lows,  and  over  all  the  smooth  crown  of  snow. 

127 


STEEP  TRAILS 

While  standing  at  their  feet,  the  other  day, 
shortly  after  my  memorable  excursion  among 
the  salt  waves  of  the  lake,  I  said:  "Now  I  shall 
have  another  baptism.  I  will  bathe  in  the  high 
sky,  among  cool  wind-waves  from  the  snow/' 
From  the  more  southerly  of  the  two  peaks  a 
long  ridge  comes  down,  bent  like  a  bow,  one 
end  in  the  hot  plains,  the  other  in  the  snow  of 
the  summit.  After  carefully  scanning  the  jag 
ged  towers  and  battlements  with  which  it  is 
roughened,  I  determined  to  make  it  my  way, 
though  it  presented  but  a  feeble  advertisement 
of  its  floral  wealth.  This  apparent  barrenness, 
however,  made  no  great  objection  just  then, 
for  I  was  scarce  hoping  for  flowers,  old  or  new, 
or  even  for  fine  scenery.  I  wanted  in  particular 
to  learn  what  the  Oquirrh  rocks  were  made  of, 
what  trees  composed  the  curious  patches  of 
forest;  and,  perhaps  more  than  all,  I  was  ani 
mated  by  a  mountaineer's  eagerness  to  get  my 
feet  into  the  snow  once  more,  and  my  head 
into  the  clear  sky,  after  lying  dormant  all 
winter  at  the  level  of  the  sea. 

But  in  every  walk  with  Nature  one  receives 
far  more  than  he  seeks.  I  had  not  gone  more 
than  a  mile  from  Lake  Point  ere  I  found  the 
way  profusely  decked  with  flowers,  mostly 
composite  and  purple  leguminosae,  a  hundred 
corollas  or  more  to  the  square  yard,  with  a 

128 


MORMON  LILIES 

corresponding  abundance  of  winged  blossoms 
above  them,  moths  and  butterflies,  the  legu- 
minosse  of  the  insect  kingdom.  This  floweriness 
is  maintained  with  delightful  variety  all  the 
way  up  through  rocks  and  bushes  to  the  snow 
—  violets,  lilies,  gilias,  cenotheras,  wallflowers, 
ivesias,  saxifrages,  smilax,  and  miles  of  bloom 
ing  bushes,  chiefly  azalea,  honeysuckle,  brier 
rose,  buckthorn,  and  eriogonum,  all  meeting 
and  blending  in  divine  accord. 

Two  liliaceous  plants  in  particular,  Erythro- 
nium  grandiflorum  and  Fritillaria  pudica,  are 
marvelously  beautiful  and  abundant.  Never 
before,  in  all  my  walks,  have  I  met  so  glorious 
a  throng  of  these  fine  showy  liliaceous  plants. 
The  whole  mountain-side  was  aglow  with 
them,  from  a  height  of  fifty-five  hundred  feet 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  snow.  Although  re 
markably  fragile,  both  in  form  and  in  substance, 
they  are  endowed  with  plenty  of  deep-seated 
vitality,  enabling  them  to  grow  in  all  kinds  of 
places  —  down  in  leafy  glens,  in  the  lee  of  wind- 
beaten  ledges,  and  beneath  the  brushy  tangles 
of  azalea,  and  oak,  and  prickly  roses  —  every 
where  forming  the  crowning  glory  of  the  flow 
ers.  If  the  neighboring  mountains  are  as  rich 
hi  lilies,  then  this  may  well  be  called  the  Lily 
Range. 

After  climbing  about  a  thousand  feet  above 

129 


STEEP  TRAILS 

the  plain  I  came  to  a  picturesque  mass  of  rock, 
cropping  up  through  the  underbrush  on  one  of 
the  steepest  slopes  of  the  mountain.  After 
examining  some  tufts  of  grass  and  saxifrage 
that  were  growing  in  its  fissured  surface,  I  was 
going  to  pass  it  by  on  the  upper  side,  where  the 
bushes  were  more  open,  but  a  company  com 
posed  of  the  two  lilies  I  have  mentioned  were 
blooming  on  the  lower  side,  and  though  they 
were  as  yet  out  of  sight,  I  suddenly  changed 
my  mind  and  went  down  to  meet  them,  as  if 
attracted  by  the  ringing  of  their  bells.  They 
were  growing  in  a  small,  nestlike  opening  be 
tween  the  rock  and  the  bushes,  and  both  the 
erythronium  and  the  fritillaria  were  in  full 
flower.  These  were  the  first  of  the  species  I 
had  seen,  and  I  need  not  try  to  tell  the  joy 
they  made.  They  are  both  lowly  plants,  — 
lowly  as  violets,  —  the  tallest  seldom  exceed 
ing  six  inches  in  height,  so  that  the  most 
searching  winds  that  sweep  the  mountains 
scarce  reach  low  enough  to  shake  their  bells. 
The  fritillaria  has  five  or  six  linear,  obtuse 
leaves,  put  on  irregularly  near  the  bottom  of 
the  stem,  which  is  usually  terminated  by  one 
large  bell-shaped  flower;  but  its  more  beautiful 
companion,  the  erythronium,  has  two  radical 
leaves  only,  which  are  large  and  oval,  and  shine 
like  glass.  They  extend  horizontally  in  oppo- 

130 


MORMON  LILIES 

site  directions,  and  form  a  beautiful  glossy 
ground,  over  which  the  one  large  down-looking 
flower  is  swung  from  a  simple  stem,  the  petals 
being  strongly  recurved,  like  those  of  Lilium 
superbum.  Occasionally  a  specimen  is  met 
which  has  from  two  to  five  flowers  hung  in  a 
loose  panicle.  People  oftentimes  travel  far  to 
see  curious  plants  like  the  carnivorous  darling- 
tonia,  the  fly-catcher,  the  walking  fern,  etc.  I 
hardly  know  how  the  little  bells  I  have  been 
describing  would  be  regarded  by  seekers  of  this 
class,  but  every  true  flower-lover  who  comes  to 
consider  these  Utah  lilies  will  surely  be  well 
rewarded,  however  long  the  way. 

Pushing  on  up  the  rugged  slopes,  I  found 
many  delightful  seclusions  —  moist  nooks  at 
the  foot  of  cliffs,  and  lilies  in  every  one  of 
them,  not  growing  close  together  like  daisies, 
but  well  apart,  with  plenty  of  room  for  their 
bells  to  swing  free  and  ring.  I  found  hundreds 
of  them  in  full  bloom  within  two  feet  of  the 
snow.  In  winter  only  the  bulbs  are  alive, 
sleeping  deep  beneath  the  ground,  like  field 
mice  in  their  nests;  then  the  snow-flowers  fall 
above  them,  lilies  over  lilies,  until  the  spring 
winds  blow,  and  these  winter  lilies  wither  in 
turn;  then  the  hiding  erythroniums  and  fritil- 
larias  rise  again,  responsive  to  the  first  touches 
of  the  sun. 

131 


STEEP  TRAILS 

I  noticed  the  tracks  of  deer  in  many  placet 
among  the  lily  gardens,  and  at  the  height  o) 
about  seven  thousand  feet  I  came  upon  the 
fresh  trail  of  a  flock  of  wild  sheep,  showing 
that  these  fine  mountaineers  still  flourish  here 
above  the  range  of  Mormon  rifles.  In  the  plant 
ing  of  her  wild  gardens,  Nature  takes  the  feet 
and  teeth  of  her  flocks  into  account,  and  makes 
use  of  them  to  trim  and  cultivate,  and  keep 
them  in  order,  as  the  bark  and  buds  of  the 
tree  are  tended  by  woodpeckers  and  linnets. 

The  evergreen  woods  consist,  as  far  as  I 
observed,  of  two  species,  a  spruce  and  a  fir, 
standing  close  together,  erect  and  arrowy  hi  a 
thrifty,  compact  growth;  but  they  are  quite 
small,  say  from  six  to  twelve  or  fourteen  inches 
in  diameter,  and  about  forty  feet  in  height. 
Among  their  giant  relatives  of  the  Sierra  the 
very  largest  would  seem  mere  saplings.  A  con 
siderable  portion  of  the  south  side  of  the  moun 
tain  is  planted  with  a  species  of  aspen,  called 
" quaking  asp"  by  the  wood-choppers.  It 
seems  to  be  quite  abundant  on  many  of  the 
eastern  mountains  of  the  basin,  and  forms  a 
marked  feature  of  their  upper  forests. 

Wading  up  the  curves  of  the  summit  was 
rather  toilsome,  for  the  snow,  which  was  soft 
ened  by  the  blazing  sun,  was  from  ten  to 
twenty  feet  deep,  but  the  view  was  one  of  the 

132 


MORMON  LILIES 

most  impressively  sublime  I  ever  beheld. 
Snowy,  ice-sculptured  ranges  bounded  the 
horizon  all  around,  while  the  great  lake,  eighty 
miles  long  and  fifty  miles  wide,  lay  fully  re 
vealed  beneath  a  lily  sky.  The  shore-lines, 
marked  by  a  ribbon  of  white  sand,  were  seen 
sweeping  around  many  a  bay  and  promon 
tory  in  elegant  curves,  and  picturesque  islands 
rising  to  mountain  heights,  and  some  of  them 
capped  with  pearly  cumuli.  And  the  wide 
prairie  of  water  glowing  in  the  gold  and  purple 
of  evening  presented  all  the  colors  that  tint  the 
lips  of  shells  and  the  petals  of  lilies  —  the  most 
beautiful  lake  this  side  of  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains.  Utah  Lake,  lying  thirty-five  miles  to 
the  south,  was  in  full  sight  also,  and  the  river 
Jordan,  which  links  the  two  together,  may  be 
traced  in  silvery  gleams  throughout  its  whole 
course. 

Descending  the  mountain,  I  followed  the 
windings  of  the  main  central  glen  on  the  north, 
gathering  specimens  of  the  cones  and  sprays 
of  the  evergreens,  and  most  of  the  other  new 
plants  I  had  met;  but  the  lilies  formed  the 
crowning  glory  of  my  bouquet  —  the  grandest 
I  had  carried  in  many  a  day.  I  reached  the 
hotel  on  the  lake  about  dusk  with  all  my  fresh 
riches,  and  my  first  mountain  ramble  in  Utah 
was  accomplished.  On  my  way  back  to  the 
133 


STEEP  TRAILS 

city,  the  next  day,  I  met  a  grave  old  Mormon 
with  whom  I  had  previously  held  some  Latter- 
Day  discussions.  I  shook  my  big  handful  of 
lilies  in  his  face  and  shouted,  "Here  are  the 
true  saints,  ancient  and  Latter-Day,  enduring 
forever !"  After  he  had  recovered  from  his 
astonishment  he  said,  "They  are  nice." 

The  other  liliaceous  plants  I  have  met  in 
Utah  are  two  species  of  zigadenas,  Fritillaria 
atropurpurea,  Calochortus  Nuttallii,  and  three 
or  four  handsome  alliums.  One  of  these  lilies, 
the  calochortus,  several  species  of  which  are 
well  known  in  California  as  the  "Mariposa 
tulips,"  has  received  great  consideration  at  the 
hands  of  the  Mormons,  for  to  it  hundreds  of 
them  owe  their  lives.  During  the  famine  years 
between  1853  and  1858,  great  destitution  pre 
vailed,  especially  in  the  southern  settlements, 
on  account  of  drouth  and  grasshoppers,  and 
throughout  one  hunger  winter  in  particular, 
thousands  of  the  people  subsisted  chiefly  on 
the  bulbs  of  these  tulips,  called  "sego"  by  the 
Indians,  who  taught  them  its  use. 

Liliaceous  women  and  girls  are  rare  among 
the  Mormons.  They  have  seen  too  much  hard, 
repressive  toil  to  admit  of  the  development  of 
lily  beauty  either  in  form  or  color.  In  general 
they  are  thickset,  with  large  feet  and  hands, 
and  with  sun-browned  faces,  often  curiously 

134 


Ij 

o  "•» 
(2 


MORMON  LILIES 

freckled  like  the  petals  of  Fritillaria  atropur- 
purea.  They  are  fruit  rather  than  flower  — 
good  brown  bread.  But  down  in  the  San  Pitch 
Valley  at  Gunnison,  I  discovered  a  genuine 
lily,  happily  named  Lily  Young.  She  is  a 
granddaughter  of  Brigham  Young,  slender  and 
graceful,  with  lily-white  cheeks  tinted  with 
clear  rose.  She  was  brought  up  in  the  old  Salt 
Lake  Zion  House,  but  by  some  strange  chance 
has  been  transplanted  to  this  wilderness,  where 
she  blooms  alone,  the  "Lily  of  San  Pitch.' f 
Pitch  is  an  old  Indian,  who,  I  suppose,  pitched 
into  the  settlers  and  thus  acquired  fame  enough 
to  give  name  to  the  valley.  Here  I  feel  uneasy 
about  the  name  of  this  lily,  for  the  compositors 
have  a  perverse  trick  of  making  me  say  all 
kinds  of  absurd  things  wholly  unwarranted  by 
plain  copy,  and  I  fear  that  the  "Lily  of  San 
Pitch"  will  appear  in  print  as  the  widow  of  Sam 
Patch.  But,  however  this  may  be,  among  my 
memories  of  this  strange  land,  that  Oquirrh 
mountain,  with  its  golden  lilies,  will  ever  rise 
in  clear  relief,  and  associated  with  them  will 
always  be  the  Mormon  lily  of  San  Pitch. 


THE  SAN  GABEIEL  VALLEY  l 

THE  sun  valley  of  San  Gabriel  is  one  of  the 
brightest  spots  to  be  found  in  all  our  bright 
land,  and  most  of  its  brightness  is  wildness  — 
wild  south  sunshine  in  a  basin  rimmed  about 
with  mountains  and  hills.  Cultivation  is  not 
wholly  wanting,  for  here  are  the  choicest  of  all 
the  Los  Angeles  orange  groves,  but  its  glorious 
abundance  of  ripe  sun  and  soil  is  only  beginning 
to  be  coined  into  fruit.  The  drowsy  bits  of 
cultivation  accomplished  by  the  old  mission 
aries  and  the  more  recent  efforts  of  restless 
Americans  are  scarce  as  yet  visible,  and  when 
comprehended  in  general  views  form  nothing 
more  than  mere  freckles  on  the  smooth  brown 
bosom  of  the  Valley. 

I  entered  the  sunny  south  half  a  month  ago, 
coming  down  along  the  cool  sea,  and  landing 
at  Santa  Monica.  An  hour's  ride  over  stretches 
of  bare,  brown  plain,  and  through  cornfields 
and  orange  groves,  brought  me  to  the  hand 
some,  conceited  little  town  of  Los  Angeles, 
where  one  finds  Spanish  adobes  and  Yankee 
shingles  meeting  and  overlapping  in  very  curi- 

1  Letter  dated  "September  1,  1877."  [Editor.] 
136 


THE  SAN  GABRIEL  VALLEY 

ous  antagonism.  I  believe  there  are  some 
fifteen  thousand  people  here,  and  some  of  their 
buildings  are  rather  fine,  but  the  gardens  and 
the  sky  interested  me  more.  A  palm  is  seen 
here  and  there  poising  its  royal  crown  in  the 
rich  light,  and  the  banana,  with  its  magnificent 
ribbon  leaves,  producing  a  marked  tropical 
effect  —  not  semi-tropical,  as  they  are  so  fond 
of  saying  here,  while  speaking  of  their  fruits. 
Nothing  I  have  noticed  strikes  me  as  semi,  save 
the  brusque  little  bits  of  civilization  with  which 
the  wilderness  is  checkered.  These  are  semi- 
barbarous  or  less;  everything  else  in  the  region 
has  a  most  exuberant  pronounced  wholeness. 
The  city  held  me  but  a  short  time,  for  the  San 
Gabriel  Mountains  were  in  sight,  advertising 
themselves  grandly  along  the  northern  sky, 
and  I  was  eager  to  make  my  way  into  their 
midst. 

At  Pasadena  I  had  the  rare  good  fortune  to 
meet  my  old  friend  Doctor  Congar,  with  whom 
I  had  studied  chemistry  and  mathematics 
fifteen  years  ago.  He  exalted  San  Gabriel  above 
all  other  inhabitable  valleys,  old  and  new, 
on  the  face  of  the  globe.  "I  have  rambled," 
said  he,  "ever  since  we  left  college,  tasting 
innumerable  climates,  and  trying  the  advan 
tages  offered  by  nearly  every  new  State  and 
Territory.  Here  I  have  made  my  home,  and 
137 


STEEP  TRAILS 

here  I  shall  stay  while  I  live.  The  geographical 
position  is  exactly  right,  soil  and  climate  per 
fect,  and  everything  that  heart  can  wish  comes 
to  our  efforts  —  flowers,  fruits,  milk  and  honey, 
and  plenty  of  money.  And  there,"  he  con 
tinued,  pointing  just  beyond  his  own  precious 
possessions,  "is  a  block  of  land  that  is  for  sale; 
buy  it  and  be  my  neighbor;  plant  five  acres 
with  orange  trees,  and  by  the  time  your  last 
mountain  is  climbed  their  fruit  will  be  your 
fortune."  He  then  led  me  down  the  valley, 
through  the  few  famous  old  groves  in  full  bear 
ing,  and  on  the  estate  of  Mr.  Wilson  showed 
me  a  ten-acre  grove  eighteen  years  old,  the 
last  year's  crop  from  which  was  sold  for  twenty 
thousand  dollars.  "  There,"  said  he,  with  tri 
umphant  enthusiasm,  "what  do  you  think  of 
that?  Two  thousand  dollars  per  acre  per 
annum  for  land  worth  only  one  hundred 
dollars." 

The  number  of  orange  trees  planted  to  the 
acre  is  usually  from  forty-nine  to  sixty-nine; 
they  then  stand  from  twenty-five  to  thirty 
feet  apart  each  way,  and,  thus  planted,  thrive 
and  continue  fruitful  to  a  comparatively  great 
age.  J.  DeBarth  Shorb,  an  enthusiastic  believer 
in  Los  Angeles  and  oranges,  says,  "We  have 
trees  on  our  property  fully  forty  years  old, 
and  eighteen  inches  in  diameter,  that  are  still 

138 


THE  SAN  GABRIEL  VALLEY 

vigorous  and  yielding  immense  crops  of  fruit, 
although  they  are  only  twenty  feet  apart." 
Seedlings  are  said  to  begin  to  bear  remunera 
tive  crops  in  their  tenth  year,  but  by  superior 
cultivation  this  long  unproductive  period  may 
be  somewhat  lessened,  while  trees  from  three 
to  five  years  old  may  be  purchased  from  the 
nurserymen,  so  that  the  newcomer  who  sets 
out  an  orchard  may  begin  to  gather  fruit  by 
the  fifth  or  sixth  year.  When  first  set  out,  and 
for  some  years  afterward,  the  trees  are  irri 
gated  by  making  rings  of  earth  around  them, 
which  are  connected  with  small  ditches, 
through  which  the  water  is  distributed  to  each 
tree.  Or,  where  the  ground  is  nearly  level,  the 
whole  surface  is  flooded  from  time  to  time  as 
required.  From  309  trees,  twelve  years  old 
from  the  seed,  DeBarth  Shorb  says  that  in  the 
season  of  1874  he  obtained  an  average  of  $20.50 
per  tree,  or  $1435  per  acre,  over  and  above  cost 
of  transportation  to  San  Francisco,  commission 
on  sales,  etc.  He  considers  $1000  per  acre 
a  fair  average  at  present  prices,  after  the  trees 
have  reached  the  age  of  twelve  years.  The 
average  price  throughout  the  county  for  the 
last  five  years  has  been  about  $20  or  $25  per 
thousand;  and,  inasmuch  as  the  area  adapted 
to  orange  culture  is  limited,  it  is  hoped  that 
this  price  may  not  greatly  fall  for  many  years. 

139 


STEEP  TRAILS 

The  lemon  and  lime  are  also  cultivated  here 
to  some  extent,  and  considerable  attention  is 
now  being  given  to  the  Florida  banana,  and 
the  olive,  almond,  and  English  walnut.  But 
the  orange  interest  heavily  overshadows  every 
other,  while  vines  have  of  late  years  been  so 
unremunerative  they  are  seldom  mentioned. 

This  is  preeminently  a  fruit  land,  but  the 
fame  of  its  productions  has  in  some  way  far 
outrun  the  results  that  have  as  yet  been 
attained.  Experiments  have  been  tried,  and 
good  beginnings  made,  but  the  number  of 
really  valuable,  well-established  groves  is 
scarce  as  one  to  fifty,  compared  with  the  newly 
planted.  Many  causes,  however,  have  com 
bined  of  late  to  give  the  business  a  wonderful 
impetus,  and  new  orchards  are  being  made 
every  day,  while  the  few  old  groves,  aglow 
with  golden  fruit,  are  the  burning  and  shining 
lights  that  direct  and  energize  the  sanguine 
newcomers. 

After  witnessing  the  bad  effect  of  homeless- 
ness,  developed  to  so  destructive  an  extent  in 
California,  it  would  reassure  every  lover  of  his 
race  to  see  the  hearty  home-building  going  on 
here  and  the  blessed  contentment  that  natu 
rally  follows  it.  Travel- worn  pioneers,  who 
have  been  tossed  about  like  boulders  in  flood- 
time,  are  thronging  hither  as  to  a  kind  of  ter- 

140 


THE  SAN  GABRIEL  VALLEY 

restrial  heaven,  resolved  to  rest.  They  build, 
and  plant,  and  settle,  and  so  come  under  nat 
ural  influences.  When  a  man  plants  a  tree  he 
plants  himself.  Every  root  is  an  anchor,  over 
which  he  rests  with  grateful  interest,  and  be 
comes  sufficiently  calm  to  feel  the  joy  of  living. 
He  necessarily  makes  the  acquaintance  of  the 
sun  and  the  sky.  Favorite  trees  fill  his  mind, 
and,  while  tending  them  like  children,  and 
accepting  the  benefits  they  bring,  he  becomes 
himself  a  benefactor.  He  sees  down  through 
the  brown  common  ground  teeming  with  col 
ored  fruits,  as  if  it  were  transparent,  and  learns 
to  bring  them  to  the  surface.  What  he  wills 
he  can  raise  by  true  enchantment.  With  slips 
and  rootlets,  his  magic  wands,  they  appear  at 
his  bidding.  These,  and  the  seeds  he  plants, 
are  his  prayers,  and,  by  them  brought  into 
right  relations  with  God,  he  works  grander 
miracles  every  day  than  ever  were  written. 

The  Pasadena  Colony,  located  on  the  south 
west  corner  of  the  well-known  San  Pasqual 
Rancho,  is  scarce  three  years  old,  but  it  is 
growing  rapidly,  like  a  pet  tree,  and  already 
forms  one  of  the  best  contributions  to  culture 
yet  accomplished  in  the  county.  It  now  num 
bers  about  sixty  families,  mostly  drawn  from 
the  better  class  of  vagabond  pioneers,  who, 
during  their  rolling-stone  days  have  managed 

141 


STEEP  TRAILS 

to  gather  sufficient  gold  moss  to  purchase  from 
ten  to  forty  acres  of  land.  They  are  perfectly 
hilarious  in  their  newly  found  life,  work  like 
ants  in  a  sunny  noonday,  and,  looking  far 
into  the  future,  hopefully  count  their  orange 
chicks  ten  years  or  more  before  they  are 
hatched;  supporting  themselves  in  the  mean 
time  on  the  produce  of  a  few  acres  of  alfalfa, 
together  with  garden  vegetables  and  the  quick- 
growing  fruits,  such  as  figs,  grapes,  apples,  etc., 
the  whole  reinforced  by  the  remaining  dollars 
of  their  land  purchase  money.  There  is  nothing 
more  remarkable  in  the  character  of  the  colony 
than  the  literary  and  scientific  taste  displayed. 
The  conversation  of  most  I  have  met  here  is  sea 
soned  with  a  smack  of  mental  ozone,  Attic  salt, 
which  struck  me  as  being  rare  among  the  tillers 
of  California  soil.  People  of  taste  and  money 
in  search  of  a  home  would  do  well  to  prospect 
the  resources  of  this  aristocratic  little  colony. 
If  we  look  now  at  these  southern  valleys  in 
general,  it  will  appear  at  once  that  with  all 
their  advantages  they  lie  beyond  the  reach  of 
poor  settlers,  not  only  on  account  of  the  high 
price  of  irrigable  land  —  one  hundred  dollars 
per  acre  and  upwards  —  but  because  of  the 
scarcity  of  labor.  A  settler  with  three  or  four 
thousand  dollars  would  be  penniless  after 
paying  for  twenty  acres  of  orange  land  and 

142 


THE  SAN  GABRIEL  VALLEY 

building  ever  so  plain  a  house,  while  many 
years  would  go  by  ere  his  trees  yielded  an 
income  adequate  to  the  maintenance  of  his 
family. 

Nor  is  there  anything  sufficiently  reviving 
in  the  fine  climate  to  form  a  reliable  induce 
ment  for  very  sick  people.  Most  of  this  class, 
from  all  I  can  learn,  come  here  only  to  die,  and 
surely  it  is  better  to  die  comfortably  at  home, 
avoiding  the  thousand  discomforts  of  travel, 
at  a  time  when  they  are  so  hard  to  bear.  It  is 
indeed  pitiful  to  see  so  many  invalids,  already 
on  the  verge  of  the  grave,  making  a  painful 
way  to  quack  climates,  hoping  to  change  age 
to  youth,  and  the  darkening  twilight  of  their 
day  to  morning.  No  such  health-fountain  has 
been  found,  and  this  climate,  fine  as  it  is, 
seems,  like  most  others,  to  be  adapted  for  well 
people  only.  From  all  I  could  find  out  regard 
ing  its  influence  upon  patients  suffering  from 
pulmonary  difficulties,  it  is  seldom  beneficial 
to  any  great  extent  in  advanced  cases.  The 
cold  sea-winds  are  less  fatal  to  this  class  of 
sufferers  than  the  corresponding  winds  further 
north,  but,  notwithstanding  they  are  tempered 
on  their  passage  inland  over  warm,  dry  ground, 
they  are  still  more  or  less  injurious. 

The  summer  climate  of  the  fir  and  pine  woods 
of  the  Sierra  Nevada  would,  I  think,  be  found 

143 


STEEP  TRAILS 

infinitely  more  reviving;  but  because  these 
woods  have  not  been  advertised  like  patent 
medicines,  few  seem  to  think  of  the  spicy,  vivi 
fying  influences  that  pervade  their  fountain 
freshness  and  beauty. 


XI 

THE  SAN  GABRIEL  MOUNTAINS1 

AFTER  saying  so  much  for  human  culture  in 
my  last,  perhaps  I  may  now  be  allowed  a  word 
for  wildness  —  the  wildness  of  this  southland, 
pure  and  untamable  as  the  sea. 

In  the  mountains  of  San  Gabriel,  overlook 
ing  the  lowland  vines  and  fruit  groves,  Mother 
Nature  is  most  ruggedly,  thornily  savage.  Not 
even  in  the  Sierra  have  I  ever  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  mountains  more  rigidly  inac 
cessible.  The  slopes  are  exceptionally  steep 
and  insecure  to  the  foot  of  the  explorer,  how 
ever  great  his  strength  or  skill  may  be,  but 
thorny  chaparral  constitutes  their  chief  de 
fense.  With  the  exception  of  little  park  and 
garden  spots  not  visible  in  comprehensive 
views,  the  entire  surface  is  covered  with  it, 
from  the  highest  peaks  to  the  plain.  It  swoops 
into  every  hollow  and  swells  over  every  ridge, 
gracefully  complying  with  the  varied  topog 
raphy,  in  shaggy,  ungovernable  exuberance, 
fairly  dwarfing  the  utmost  efforts  of  human 
culture  out  of  sight  and  mind. 

1  Letter  written  during  the  first  week  of  September,  1877. 
[Editor.] 

145 


STEEP  TRAILS 

But  in  the  very  heart  of  this  thorny  wilder 
ness,  down  in  the  dells,  you  may  find  gardens 
filled  with  the  fairest  flowers,  that  any  child 
would  love,  and  unapproachable  linns  lined 
with  lilies  and  ferns,  where  the  ousel  builds  its 
mossy  hut  and  sings  in  chorus  with  the  white 
falling  water.  Bears,  also,  and  panthers,  wolves, 
wildcats,  wood  rats,  squirrels,  foxes,  snakes, 
and  innumerable  birds,  all  find  grateful  homes 
here,  adding  wildness  to  wildness  in  glorious 
profusion  and  variety. 

Where  the  coast  ranges  and  the  Sierra 
Nevada  come  together  we  find  a  very  compli 
cated  system  of  short  ranges,  the  geology  and 
topography  of  which  is  yet  hidden,  and  many 
years  of  laborious  study  must  be  given  for 
anything  like  a  complete  interpretation  of 
them.  The  San  Gabriel  is  one  or  more  of  these 
ranges,  forty  or  fifty  miles  long,  and  half  as 
broad,  extending  from  the  Cajon  Pass  on  the 
east,  to  the  Santa  Monica  and  Santa  Susanna 
ranges  on  the  west.  San  Antonio,  the  domi 
nating  peak,  rises  towards  the  eastern  extrem 
ity  of  the  range  to  a  height  of  about  six  thou 
sand  feet,  forming  a  sure  landmark  throughout 
the  valley  and  all  the  way  down  to  the  coast, 
without,  however,  possessing  much  striking 
individuality.  The  whole  range,  seen  from  the 
plain,  with  the  hot  sun  beating  upon  its  south- 

146 


THE  SAN  GABRIEL  MOUNTAINS 

ern  slopes,  wears  a  terribly  forbidding  aspect. 
There  is  nothing  of  the  grandeur  of  snow,  or 
glaciers,  or  deep  forests,  to  excite  curiosity  or 
adventure;  no  trace  of  gardens  or  waterfalls. 
From  base  to  summit  all  seems  gray,  barren, 
silent  —  dead,  bleached  bones  of  mountains, 
overgrown  with  scrubby  bushes,  like  gray 
moss.  But  all  mountains  are  full  of  hidden 
beauty,  and  the  next  day  after  my  arrival  at 
Pasadena  I  supplied  myself  with  bread  and 
eagerly  set  out  to  give  myself  to  their  keeping. 
On  the  first  day  of  my  excursion  I  went  only 
as  far  as  the  mouth  of  Eaton  Canon,  because 
the  heat  was  oppressive,  and  a  pair  of  new 
shoes  were  chafing  my  feet  to  such  an  extent 
that  walking  began  to  be  painful.  While  look 
ing  for  a  camping-ground  among  the  boulder 
beds  of  the  canon,  I  came  upon  a  strange,  dark 
man  of  doubtful  parentage.  He  kindly  invited 
me  to  camp  with  him,  and  led  me  to  his  little 
hut.  All  my  conjectures  as  to  his  nationality 
failed,  and  no  wonder,  since  his  father  was 
Irish  and  mother  Spanish,  a  mixture  not  often 
met  even  in  California.  He  happened  to  be 
out  of  candles,  so  we  sat  in  the  dark  while  he 
gave  me  a  sketch  of  his  life,  which  was  exceed 
ingly  picturesque.  Then  he  showed  me  his 
plans  for  the  future.  He  was  going  to  settle 
among  these  canon  boulders,  and  make  money, 

147 


STEEP  TRAILS 

and  marry  a  Spanish  woman.  People  mine  for 
irrigating  water  along  the  foothills  as  for  gold. 
He  is  now  driving  a  prospecting  tunnel  into  a 
spur  of  the  mountains  back  of  his  cabin.  "My 
prospect  is  good,"  he  said,  "and  if  I  strike  a 
strong  flow,  I  shall  soon  be  worth  five  or  ten 
thousand  dollars.  That  flat  out  there,"  he 
continued,  referring  to  a  small,  irregular  patch 
of  gravelly  detritus  that  had  been  sorted  out 
and  deposited  by  Eaton  Creek  during  some 
flood  season,  "is  large  enough  for  a  nice  orange 
grove,  and,  after  watering  my  own  trees,  I  can 
sell  water  down  the  valley;  and  then  the  hill 
side  back  of  the  cabin  will  do  for  vines,  and  I 
can  keep  bees,  for  the  white  sage  and  black 
sage  up  the  mountains  is  full  of  honey.  You 
see,  I've  got  a  good  thing."  All  this  prospec 
tive  affluence  in  the  sunken,  boulder-choked 
flood-bed  of  Eaton  Creek!  Most  home-seekers 
would  as  soon  think  of  settling  on  the  summit 
of  San  Antonio. 

Half  an  hour's  easy  rambling  up  the  canon 
brought  me  to  the  foot  of  "The  Fall,"  famous 
throughout  the  valley  settlements  as  the  finest 
yet  discovered  in  the  range.  It  is  a  charming 
little  thing,  with  a  voice  sweet  as  a  songbird's, 
leaping  some  thirty-five  or  forty  feet  into  a 
round,  mirror  pool.  The  cliff  back  of  it  and  on 
both  sides  is  completely  covered  with  thick, 
148 


THE  SAN  GABRIEL  MOUNTAINS 

furry  mosses,  and  the  white  fall  shines  against 
the  green  like  a  silver  instrument  in  a  velvet 
case.  Here  come  the  Gabriel  lads  and  lassies 
from  the  commonplace  orange  groves,  to  make 
love  and  gather  ferns  and  dabble  away  their 
hot  holidays  hi  the  cool  pool.  They  are  fortu 
nate  in  finding  so  fresh  a  retreat  so  near  their 
homes.  It  is  the  Yosemite  of  San  Gabriel.  The 
walls,  though  not  of  the  true  Yosemite  type 
either  in  form  or  sculpture,  rise  to  a  height  of 
nearly  two  thousand  feet.  Ferns  are  abundant 
on  all  the  rocks  within  reach  of  the  spray,  and 
picturesque  maples  and  sycamores  spread  a 
grateful  shade  over  a  rich  profusion  of  wild 
flowers  that  grow  among  the  boulders,  from 
the  edge  of  the  pool  a  mile  or  more  down  the 
dell-like  bottom  of  the  valley,  the  whole  form 
ing  a  charming  little  poem  of  wildness  —  the 
vestibule  of  these  shaggy  mountain  temples. 

The  foot  of  the  fall  is  about  a  thousand  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  here  climbing 
begins.  I  made  my  way  out  of  the  valley  on 
the  west  side,  followed  the  ridge  that  forms  the 
western  rim  of  the  Eaton  Basin  to  the  summit 
of  one  of  the  principal  peaks,  thence  crossed 
the  middle  of  the  basin,  forcing  a  way  over  its 
many  subordinate  ridges,  and  out  over  the 
eastern  rim,  and  from  first  to  last  during  three 
days  spent  in  this  excursion,  I  had  to  con- 

149 


STEEP  TRAILS 

tend  with  the  richest,  most  self-possessed  and 
uncompromising  chaparral  I  have  ever  enjoyed 
since  first  my  mountaineering  began. 

For  a  hundred  feet  or  so  the  ascent  was  prac 
ticable  only  by  means  of  bosses  of  the  club  moss 
that  clings  to  the  rock.  Above  this  the  ridge  is 
weathered  away  to  a  slender  knife-edge  for  a 
distance  of  two  or  three  hundred  yards,  and 
thence  to  the  summit  it  is  a  bristly  mane  of 
chaparral.  Here  and  there  small  openings 
occur,  commanding  grand  views  of  the  valley 
and  beyond  to  the  ocean.  These  are  favorite 
outlooks  and  resting-places  for  the  wild  ani 
mals,  in  particular  for  bears,  wolves,  and  wild 
cats.  In  the  densest  places  I  came  upon  wood- 
rat  villages  whose  huts  were  from  four  to  eight 
feet  high,  built  hi  the  same  style  of  architec 
ture  as  those  of  the  muskrats. 

The  day  was  nearly  done.  I  reached  the 
summit  and  I  had  tune  to  make  only  a  hasty 
survey  of  the  topography  of  the  wild  basin 
now  outspread  maplike  beneath,  and  to  drink 
in  the  rare  loveliness  of  the  sunlight  before 
hastening  down  in  search  of  water.  Pushing 
through  another  mile  of  chaparral,  I  emerged 
into  one  of  the  most  beautiful  parklike  groves 
of  live  oak  I  ever  saw.  The  ground  beneath 
was  planted  only  with  aspidiums  and  brier 
roses.  At  the  foot  of  the  grove  I  came  to  the 

150 


THE  SAN  GABRIEL  MOUNTAINS 

dry  channel  of  one  of  the  tributary  streams, 
but,  following  it  down  a  short  distance,  I  de 
scried  a  few  specimens  of  the  scarlet  mimulus; 
and  I  was  assured  that  water  was  near.  I  found 
about  a  bucketful  in  a  granite  bowl,  but  it 
was  full  of  leaves  and  beetles,  making  a  sort 
of  brown  coffee  that  could  be  rendered  avail 
able  only  by  filtering  it  through  sand  and 
charcoal.  This  I  resolved  to  do  in  case  the 
night  came  on  before  I  found  better.  Follow 
ing  the  channel  a  mile  farther  down  to  its  con 
fluence  with  another,  larger  tributary,  I  found 
a  lot  of  boulder  pools,  clear  as  crystal,  and 
brimming  full,  linked  together  by  little  glis 
tening  currents  just  strong  enough  to  sing. 
Flowers  in  full  bloom  adorned  the  banks,  lilies 
ten  feet  high,  and  luxuriant  ferns  arching  over 
one  another  in  lavish  abundance,  while  a  noble 
old  live  oak  spread  its  rugged  boughs  over  all, 
forming  one  of  the  most  perfect  and  most 
secluded  of  Nature's  gardens.  Here  I  camped, 
making  my  bed  on  smooth  cobblestones. 

Next  morning,  pushing  up  the  channel  of 
a  tributary  that  takes  its  rise  on  Mount  San 
Antonio,  I  passed  many  lovely  gardens  watered 
by  oozing  currentlets,  every  one  of  which  had 
lilies  in  them  in  the  full  pomp  of  bloom,  and  a 
rich  growth  of  ferns,  chiefly  woodwardias  and 
aspidiums  and  maidenhairs;  but  toward  the 

151 


STEEP  TRAILS 

base  of  the  mountain  the  channel  was  dry,  and 
the  chaparral  closed  over  from  bank  to  bank, 
so  that  I  was  compelled  to  creep  more  than  a 
mile  on  hands  and  knees. 

In  one  spot  I  found  an  opening  in  the  thorny 
sky  where  I  could  stand  erect,  and  on  the 
further  side  of  the  opening  discovered  a  small 
pool.  "Now,  here"  I  said,  "I  must  be  careful 
in  creeping,  for  the  birds  of  the  neighborhood 
come  here  to  drink,  and  the  rattlesnakes  come 
here  to  catch  them."  I  then  began  to  cast  my 
eye  along  the  channel,  perhaps  instinctively 
feeling  a  snaky  atmosphere,  and  finally  dis 
covered  one  rattler  between  my  feet.  But  there 
was  a  bashful  look  in  his  eye,  and  a  withdraw 
ing,  deprecating  kink  in  his  neck  that  showed 
plainly  as  words  could  tell  that  he  would  not 
strike,  and  only  wished  to  be  let  alone.  I  there 
fore  passed  on,  lifting  my  foot  a  little  higher 
than  usual,  and  left  him  to  enjoy  his  life  in  this 
his  own  home. 

My  next  camp  was  near  the  heart  of  the  basin, 
at  the  head  of  a  grand  system  of  cascades  from 
ten  to  two  hundred  feet  high,  one  following 
the  other  in  close  succession  and  making  a  total 
descent  of  nearly  seventeen  hundred  feet.  The 
rocks  above  me  leaned  over  in  a  threatening 
way  and  were  full  of  seams,  making  the  camp 
a  very  unsafe  one  during  an  earthquake. 

152 


THE  SAN  GABRIEL  MOUNTAINS 

Next  day  the  chaparral,  in  ascending  the 
eastern  rim  of  the  basin,  was,  if  possible,  denser 
and  more  stubbornly  bayoneted  than  ever.  I 
followed  bear  trails,  where  in  some  places  I 
found  tufts  of  their  hair  that  had  been  pulled 
out  in  squeezing  a  way  through;  but  there  was 
much  of  a  very  interesting  character  that  far 
overpaid  all  my  pains.  Most  of  the  plants  are 
identical  with  those  of  the  Sierra,  but  there  are 
quite  a  number  of  Mexican  species.  One  conif 
erous  tree  was  all  I  found.  This  is  a  spruce  of 
a  species  new  to  me,  Douglasii  macrocarpa.1 

My  last  camp  was  down  at  the  narrow, 
notched  bottom  of  a  dry  channel,  the  only 
open  way  for  the  life  in  the  neighborhood. 
I  therefore  lay  between  two  fires,  built  to  fence 
out  snakes  and  wolves. 

From  the  summit  of  the  eastern  run  I  had  a 
glorious  view  of  the  valley  out  to  the  ocean, 
which  would  require  a  whole  book  for  its  de 
scription.  My  bread  gave  out  a  day  before 
reaching  the  settlements,  but  I  felt  all  the 
fresher  and  clearer  for  the  fast. 

1  [The  spruce,  or  hemlock,  then  known  as  Abies  Douglasii 
var.  macrocarpa  is  now  called  Pseudotsuga  macrocarpa.] 


XII 


NEVADA  FAEMS1 

To  the  farmer  who  comes  to  this  thirsty 
land  from  beneath  rainy  skies,  Nevada  seems 
one  vast  desert,  all  sage  and  sand,  hopelessly 
irredeemable  now  and  forever.  And  this,  under 
present  conditions,  is  severely  true.  For  not 
withstanding  it  has  gardens,  grainfields,  and 
hayfields  generously  productive,  these  com 
pared  with  the  arid  stretches  of  valley  and 
plain,  as  beheld  in  general  views  from  the 
mountain-tops,  are  mere  specks  lying  incon 
spicuously  here  and  there,  in  out-of-the-way 
places,  often  thirty  or  forty  miles  apart. 

In  leafy  regions,  blessed  with  copious  rains, 
we  learn  to  measure  the  productive  capacity 
of  the  soil  by  its  natural  vegetation.  But  this 
rule  is  almost  wholly  inapplicable  here,  for, 
notwithstanding  its  savage  nakedness,  scarce 
at  all  veiled  by  a  sparse  growth  of  sage  and 
linosyris,2  the  desert  soil  of  the  Great  Basin 
is  as  rich  in  the  elements  that  in  rainy  regions 
rise  and  ripen  into  food  as  that  of  any  other 
State  in  the  Union.  The  rocks  of  its  numerous 

1  Written  at  Ward,  Nevada,  in  September,  1878.  [Editor.] 

2  See  footnote  on  p.  38. 

154 


NEVADA  FARMS 

mountain-ranges  have  been  thoroughly  crushed 
and  ground  by  glaciers,  thrashed  and  vitalized 
by  the  sun,  and  sifted  and  outspread  in  lake- 
basins  by  powerful  torrents  that  attended  the 
breaking-up  of  the  glacial  period,  as  if  in  every 
way  Nature  had  been  making  haste  to  prepare 
the  land  for  the  husbandman.  Soil,  climate, 
topographical  conditions,  all  that  the  most 
exacting  could  demand,  are  present,  but  one 
thing,  water,  is  wanting.  The  present  rainfall 
would  be  wholly  inadequate  for  agriculture, 
even  if  it  were  advantageously  distributed  over 
the  lowlands,  while  in  fact  the  greater  portion 
is  poured  out  on  the  heights  in  sudden  and 
violent  thunder-showers  called  "cloud-bursts," 
the  waters  of  which  are  fruitlessly  swallowed 
up  in  sandy  gulches  and  deltas  a  few  minutes 
after  their  first  boisterous  appearance.  The 
principal  mountain-chains,  trending  nearly 
north  and  south,  parallel  with  the  Sierra  and 
the  Wahsatch,  receive  a  good  deal  of  snow  dur 
ing  winter,  but  no  great  masses  are  stored  up  as 
fountains  for  large  perennial  streams  capable 
of  irrigating  considerable  areas.  Most  of  it 
is  melted  before  the  end  of  May  and  absorbed 
by  moraines  and  gravelly  taluses,  which  send 
forth  small  rills  that  slip  quietly  down  the 
upper  canons  through  narrow  strips  of  flowery 
verdure,  most  of  them  sinking  and  vanishing 

155 


STEEP  TRAILS 

before  they  reach  the  base  of  their  fountain 
ranges.  Perhaps  not  one  in  ten  of  the  whole 
number  flow  out  into  the  open  plains,  not  a 
single  drop  reaches  the  sea,  and  only  a  few  are 
large  enough  to  irrigate  more  than  one  farm 
of  moderate  size. 

It  is  upon  these  small  outflowing  rills  that 
most  of  the  Nevada  ranches  are  located,  lying 
countersunk  beneath  the  general  level,  just 
where  the  mountains  meet  the  plains,  at  an 
average  elevation  of  five  thousand  feet  above 
sea-level.  All  the  cereals  and  garden  vege 
tables  thrive  here,  and  yield  bountiful  crops. 
Fruit,  however,  has  been,  as  yet,  grown  suc 
cessfully  in  only  a  few  specially  favored  spots. 

Another  distinct  class  of  ranches  are  found 
sparsely  distributed  along  the  lowest  portions 
of  the  plains,  where  the  ground  is  kept  moist 
by  springs,  or  by  narrow  threads  of  moving 
water  called  rivers,  fed  by  some  one  or  more 
of  the  most  vigorous  of  the  mountain  rills  that 
have  succeeded  in  making  their  escape  from 
the  mountains.  These  are  mostly  devoted  to 
the  growth  of  wild  hay,  though  in  some  the 
natural  meadow  grasses  and  sedges  have  been 
supplemented  by  timothy  and  alfalfa;  and 
where  the  soil  is  not  too  strongly  impregnated 
with  salts,  some  grain  is  raised.  Reese  River 
Valley,  Big  Smoky  Valley,  and  White  River 

156 


NEVADA  FARMS 

Valley  offer  fair  illustrations  of  this  class.  As 
compared  with  the  foothill  ranches,  they  are 
larger  and  less  inconspicuous,  as  they  lie  in  the 
wide,  unshadowed  levels  of  the  plains —  wavy- 
edged  flecks  of  green  in  a  wilderness  of  gray. 

Still  another  class  equally  well  defined,  both 
as  to  distribution  and  as  to  products,  is  re 
stricted  to  that  portion  of  western  Nevada  and 
the  eastern  border  of  California  which  lies 
within  the  redeeming  influences  of  California 
waters.  Three  of  the  Sierra  rivers  descend  from 
their  icy  fountains  into  the  desert  like  angels 
of  mercy  to  bless  Nevada.  These  are  the 
Walker,  Carson,  and  Truckee;  and  in  the  val 
leys  through  which  they  flow  are  found  by  far 
the  most  extensive  hay  and  grain  fields  within 
the  bounds  of  the  State.  Irrigating  streams  are 
led  off  right  and  left  through  innumerable  chan 
nels,  and  the  sleeping  ground,  starting  at  once 
into  action,  pours  forth  its  wealth  without  stint. 

But  notwithstanding  the  many  porous  fields 
thus  fertilized,  considerable  portions  of  the 
waters  of  all  these  rivers  continue  to  reach  their 
old  deathbeds  in  the  desert,  indicating  that  in 
these  salt  valleys  there  still  is  room  for  com 
ing  farmers.  In  middle  and  eastern  Nevada, 
however,  every  rill  that  I  have  seen  hi  a  ride  of 
three  thousand  miles,  at  all  available  for  irriga 
tion,  has  been  claimed  and  put  to  use. 

157 


STEEP  TRAILS 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  under  present 
conditions  the  limit  of  agricultural  develop 
ment  in  the  dry  basin  between  the  Sierra  and 
the  Wahsatch  has  been  already  approached,  a 
result  caused  not  alone  by  natural  restrictions 
as  to  the  area  capable  of  development,  but  by 
the  extraordinary  stimulus  furnished  by  the 
mines  to  agricultural  effort.  The  gathering  of 
gold  and  silver,  hay  and  barley,  have  gone  on 
together.  Most  of  the  mid-valley  bogs  and 
meadows,  and  foothill  rills  capable  of  irrigat 
ing  from  ten  to  fifty  acres,  were  claimed  more 
than  twenty  years  ago. 

A  majority  of  these  pioneer  settlers  are 
plodding  Dutchmen,  living  content  in  the  back 
lanes  and  valleys  of  Nature;  but  the  high  price 
of  all  kinds  of  farm  products  tempted  many  of 
even  the  keen  Yankee  prospectors,  made  wise 
in  California,  to  bind  themselves  down  to  this 
sure  kind  of  mining.  The  wildest  of  wild  hay, 
made  chiefly  of  carices  and  rushes,  was  sold  at 
from  two  to  three  hundred  dollars  per  ton  on 
ranches.  The  same  kind  of  hay  is  still  worth 
from  fifteen  to  forty  dollars  per  ton,  according 
to  the  distance  from  mines  and  comparative 
security  from  competition.  Barley  and  oats  are 
from  forty  to  one  hundred  dollars  a  ton,  while 
all  sorts  of  garden  products  find  ready  sale  at 
high  prices. 

158 


NEVADA  FARMS 

With  rich  mine  markets  and  salubrious  cli 
mate,  the  Nevada  farmer  can  make  more 
money  by  loose,  ragged  methods  than  the  same 
class  of  farmers  in  any  other  State  I  have  yet 
seen,  while  the  almost  savage  isolation  in 
which  they  live  seems  grateful  to  them.  Even 
in  those  cases  where  the  advent  of  neighbors 
brings  no  disputes  concerning  water-rights  and 
ranges,  they  seem  to  prefer  solitude,  most  of 
them  having  been  elected  from  adventurers 
from  California  —  the  pioneers  of  pioneers. 
The  passing  stranger,  however,  is  always  wel 
comed  and  supplied  with  the  best  the  home 
affords,  and  around  the  fireside,  while  he 
smokes  his  pipe,  very  little  encouragement  is 
required  to  bring  forth  the  story  of  the  farmer's 
life  —  hunting,  mining,  fighting,  in  the  early 
Indian  times,  etc.  Only  the  few  who  are  mar 
ried  hope  to  return  to  California  to  educate 
their  children,  and  the  ease  with  which  money 
is  made  renders  the  fulfillment  of  these  hopes 
comparatively  sure. 

After  dwelling  thus  long  on  the  farms  of  this 
dry  wonderland,  my  readers  may  be  led  to 
fancy  them  of  more  importance  as  compared 
with  the  unbroken  fields  of  Nature  than  they 
really  are.  Making  your  way  along  any  of  the 
wide  gray  valleys  that  stretch  from  north  to 
south,  seldom  will  your  eye  be  interrupted  by 

159 


STEEP  TRAILS 

a  single  mark  of  cultivation.  The  smooth  lake- 
like  ground  sweeps  on  indefinitely,  growing 
more  and  more  dim  in  the  glowing  sunshine, 
while  a  mountain-range  from  eight  to  ten 
thousand  feet  high  bounds  the  view  on  either 
hand.  No  singing  water,  no  green  sod,  no 
moist  nook  to  rest  in  —  mountain  and  valley 
alike  naked  and  shadowless  in  the  sun-glare; 
and  though,  perhaps,  traveling  a  well-worn 
road  to  a  gold  or  silver  mine,  and  supplied  with 
repeated  instructions,  you  can  scarce  hope 
to  find  any  human  habitation  from  day  to  day, 
so  vast  and  impressive  is  the  hot,  dusty,  alka 
line  wildness. 

But  after  riding  some  thirty  or  forty  miles, 
and  while  the  sun  may  be  sinking  behind  the 
mountains,  you  come  suddenly  upon  signs  of 
cultivation.  Clumps  of  willows  indicate  water, 
and  water  indicates  a  farm.  Approaching  more 
nearly,  you  discover  what  may  be  a  patch  of 
barley  spread  out  unevenly  along  the  bottom 
of  a  flood-bed,  broken  perhaps,  and  rendered 
less  distinct  by  boulder-piles  and  the  fringing 
willows  of  a  stream.  Speedily  you  can  confi 
dently  say  that  the  grain-patch  is  surely  such; 
its  ragged  bounds  become  clear;  a  sand-roofed 
cabin  comes  to  view  littered  with  sun-cracked 
implements  and  with  an  outer  girdle  of  potato, 
cabbage,  and  alfalfa  patches. 

160 


NEVADA  FARMS 

The  immense  expanse  of  mountain-girt  val 
leys,  on  the  edges  of  which  these  hidden  ranches 
lie,  make  even  the  largest  fields  seem  comic  in 
size.  The  smallest,  however,  are  by  no  means 
insignificant  in  a  pecuniary  view.  On  the  east 
side  of  the  Toyabe  Range  I  discovered  a  jolly 
Irishman  who  informed  me  that  his  income 
from  fifty  acres,  reinforced  by  a  sheep-range 
on  the  adjacent  hills,  was  from  seven  to  nine 
thousand  dollars  per  annum.  His  irrigating 
brook  is  about  four  feet  wide  and  eight  inches 
deep,  flowing  about  two  miles  per  hour. 

On  Duckwater  Creek,  Nye  County,  Mr. 
Irwin  has  reclaimed  a  tule  swamp  several 
hundred  acres  hi  extent,  which  is  now  chiefly 
devoted  to  alfalfa.  On  twenty-five  acres  he 
claims  to  have  raised  this  year  thirty-seven 
tons  of  barley.  Indeed,  I  have  not  yet  noticed 
a  meager  crop  of  any  kind  in  the  State.  Fruit 
alone  is  conspicuously  absent. 

On  the  California  side  of  the  Sierra  gram  will 
not  ripen  at  a  much  greater  elevation  than 
four  thousand  feet  above  sea-level.  The  val 
leys  of  Nevada  lie  at  a  height  of  from  four  to 
six  thousand  feet,  and  both  wheat  and  barley 
ripen,  wherever  water  may  be  had,  up  to  seven 
thousand  feet.  The  harvest,  of  course,  is  later 
as  the  elevation  increases.  In  the  valleys  of 
the  Carson  and  Walker  Rivers,  four  thousand 

161 


STEEP  TRAILS 

feet  above  the  sea,  the  grain  harvest  is  about 
a  month  later  than  in  California.  In  Reese 
River  Valley,  six  thousand  feet,  it  begins  near 
the  end  of  August.  Winter  grain  ripens  some 
what  earlier,  while  occasionally  one  meets  a 
patch  of  barley  in  some  cool,  high-lying  canon 
that  will  not  mature  before  the  middle  of 
September. 

Unlike  California,  Nevada  will  probably  be 
always  richer  in  gold  and  silver  than  in  grain. 
Utah  farmers  hope  to  change  the  climate  of 
the  east  side  of  the  basin  by  prayer,  and  point 
to  the  recent  rise  in  the  waters  of  the  Great 
Salt  Lake  as  a  beginning  of  moister  times. 
But  Nevada's  only  hope,  in  the  way  of  any 
considerable  increase  in  agriculture,  is  from 
artesian  wells.  The  cleft  and  porous  character 
of  the  mountain  rocks,  tilted  at  every  angle, 
and  the  presence  of  springs  bursting  forth  hi 
the  valleys  far  from  the  mountain  sources, 
indicate  accumulations  of  water  from  the  melt 
ing  snows  that  have  escaped  evaporation, 
which,  no  doubt,  may  in  many  places  now 
barren  be  brought  to  the  surface  in  flowing 
wells.  The  experiment  has  been  tried  on  a 
small  scale  with  encouraging  success.  But 
what  is  now  wanted  seems  to  be  the  boring  of 
a  few  specimen  wells  of  a  large  size  out  in  the 
main  valleys.  The  encouragement  that  suc- 

162 


NEVADA  FARMS 

cessful  experiments  of  this  kind  would  give  to 
emigration  seeking  farms  forms  an  object  well 
worthy  the  attention  of  the  Government.  But 
all  that  California  farmers  in  the  grand  central 
valley  require  is  the  preservation  of  the  forests 
and  the  wise  distribution  of  the  glorious  abun 
dance  of  water  from  the  snow  stored  on  the 
west  flank  of  the  Sierra. 

Whether  any  considerable  area  of  these  sage 
plains  will  ever  thus  be  made  to  blossom  in 
grass  and  wheat,  experience  will  show.  But  in 
the  mean  tune  Nevada  is  beautiful  in  her  wild- 
ness,  and  if  tillers  of  the  soil  can  thus  be  brought 
to  see  that  possibly  Nature  may  have  other 
uses  even  for  rich  soil  besides  the  feeding  of 
human  beings,  then  will  these  foodless  "  des 
erts"  have  taught  a  fine  lesson. 


XIII 

NEVADA  FOEESTS1 

WHEN  the  traveler  from  California  has 
crossed  the  Sierra  and  gone  a  little  way  down 
the  eastern  flank,  the  woods  come  to  an  end 
about  as  suddenly  and  completely  as  if,  going 
westward,  he  had  reached  the  ocean.  From 
the  very  noblest  forests  in  the  world  he  emerges 
into  free  sunshine  and  dead  alkaline  lake- 
levels.  Mountains  are  seen  beyond,  rising  in 
bewildering  abundance,  range  beyond  range. 
But  however  closely  we  have  been  accustomed 
to  associate  forests  and  mountains,  these  al 
ways  present  a  singularly  barren  aspect,  ap 
pearing  gray  and  forbidding  and  shadeless, 
like  heaps  of  ashes  dumped  from  the  blazing 
sky. 

But  wheresoever  we  may  venture  to  go  in 
all  this  good  world,  nature  is  ever  found  richer 
and  more  beautiful  than  she  seems,  and  no 
where  may  you  meet  with  more  varied  and 
delightful  surprises  than  in  the  byways  and 
recesses  of  this  sublime  wilderness  —  lovely 
asters  and  abronias  on  the  dusty  plains,  rose- 
gardens  around  the  mountain  wells,  and  resiny 

1  Written  at  Eureka,  Nevada,  in  October,  1878.  [Editor.] 
164 


NEVADA  FORESTS 

woods,  where  all  seemed  so  desolate,  adorning 
the  hot  foothills  as  well  as  the  cool  summits, 
fed  by  cordial  and  benevolent  storms  of  rain 
and  hail  and  snow;  all  of  these  scant  and  rare 
as  compared  with  the  immeasurable  exuber 
ance  of  California,  but  still  amply  sufficient 
throughout  the  barest  deserts  for  a  clear  mani 
festation  of  God's  love. 

Though  Nevada  is  situated  in  what  is  called 
the  "Great  Basin,"  no  less  than  sixty-five 
groups  and  chains  of  mountains  rise  within 
the  bounds  of  the  State  to  a  height  of  about 
from  eight  thousand  to  thirteen  thousand  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  as  far  as  I  have 
observed,  every  one  of  these  is  planted,  to  some 
extent,  with  coniferous  trees,  though  it  is  only 
upon  the  highest  that  we  find  anything  that 
may  fairly  be  called  a  forest.  The  lower  ranges 
and  the  foothills  and  slopes  of  the  higher  are 
roughened  with  small  scrubby  junipers  and 
nut  pines,  while  the  dominating  peaks,  to 
gether  with  the  ridges  that  swing  in  grand 
curves  between  them,  are  covered  with  a 
closer  and  more  erect  growth  of  pine,  spruce, 
and  fir,  resembling  the  forests  of  the  Eastern 
States  both  as  to  size  and  general  botanical 
characteristics.  Here  is  found  what  is  called 
the  heavy  timber,  but  the  tallest  and  most 
fully  developed  sections  of  the  forests,  growing 

165 


STEEP  TRAILS 

down  in  sheltered  hollows  on  moist  moraines, 
would  be  regarded  in  California  only  as  groves 
of  saplings,  and  so,  relatively,  they  are,  for  by 
careful  calculation  we  find  that  more  than  a 
thousand  of  these  trees  would  be  required  to 
furnish  as  much  timber  as  may  be  obtained 
from  a  single  specimen  of  our  Sierra  giants. 

The  height  of  the  timber-line  in  eastern 
Nevada,  near  the  middle  of  the  Great  Basin, 
is  about  eleven  thousand  feet  above  sea-level; 
consequently  the  forests,  hi  a  dwarfed,  storm- 
beaten  condition,  pass  over  the  summits  of 
nearly  every  range  in  the  State,  broken  here 
and  there  only  by  mechanical  conditions  of 
the  surface  rocks.  Only  three  mountains  in 
the  State  have  as  yet  come  under  my  observa 
tion  whose  summits  rise  distinctly  above  the 
tree-line.  These  are  Wheeler's  Peak,  twelve 
thousand  three  hundred  feet  high,  Mount 
Moriah,  about  twelve  thousand  feet,  and 
Granite  Mountain,  about  the  same  height,  all 
of  which  are  situated  near  the  boundary-line 
between  Nevada  and  Utah  Territory. 

In  a  rambling  mountaineering  journey  of 
eighteen  hundred  miles  across  the  state,  I  have 
met  nine  species  of  coniferous  trees,  —  four 
pines,  two  spruces,  two  junipers,  and  one  fir,  — 
about  one  third  the  number  found  in  Cali 
fornia.  By  far  the  most  abundant  and  inter- 

166 


NEVADA  FORESTS 

esting  of  these  is  the  Pinus  Fremontiana,1  or 
nut  pine.  In  the  number  of  individual  trees 
and  extent  of  range  this  curious  little  conifer 
surpasses  all  the  others  combined.  Nearly 
every  mountain  in  the  State  is  planted  with  it 
from  near  the  base  to  a  height  of  from  eight 
thousand  to  nine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea. 
Some  are  covered  from  base  to  summit  by  this 
one  species,  with  only  a  sparse  growth  of  juni 
per  on  the  lower  slopes  to  break  the  continuity 
of  these  curious  woods,  which,  though  dark- 
looking  at  a  little  distance,  are  yet  almost 
shadeless,  and  without  any  hint  of  the  dark 
glens  and  hollows  so  characteristic  of  other 
pine  woods.  Tens  of  thousands  of  acres  occur 
in  one  continuous  belt.  Indeed,  viewed  com 
prehensively,  the  entire  State  seems  to  be 
pretty  evenly  divided  into  mountain-ranges 
covered  with  nut  pines  and  plains  covered 
with  sage  —  now  a  swath  of  pines  stretching 
from  north  to  south,  now  a  swath  of  sage;  the 
one  black,  the  other  gray;  one  severely  level, 
the  other  sweeping  on  complacently  over  ridge 
and  valley  and  lofty  crowning  dome. 

The  real  character  of  a  forest  of  this  sort 
would  never  be  guessed  by  the  inexperienced 
observer.  Traveling  across  the  sage  levels  in 
the  dazzling  sunlight,  you  gaze  with  shaded 

1  Now  called  Pinus  monophylla,  or  one-leaf  pinon.  [Editor.] 
167 


STEEP  TRAILS 

eyes  at  the  mountains  rising  along  their  edges, 
perhaps  twenty  miles  away,  but  no  invitation 
that  is  at  all  likely  to  be  understood  is  discern 
ible.  Every  mountain,  however  high  it  swells 
into  the  sky,  seems  utterly  barren.  Approach 
ing  nearer,  a  low  brushy  growth  is  seen, 
strangely  black  in  aspect,  as  though  it  had  been 
burned.  This  is  a  nut  pine  forest,  the  bountiful 
orchard  of  the  red  man.  When  you  ascend  into 
its  midst  you  find  the  ground  beneath  the  trees, 
and  in  the  openings  also,  nearly  naked,  and 
mostly  rough  on  the  surface  —  a  succession  of 
crumbling  ledges  of  lava,  limestones,  slate,  and 
quartzite,  coarsely  strewn  with  soil  weathered 
from  them.  Here  and  there  occurs  a  bunch  of 
sage  or  linosyris,  or  a  purple  aster,  or  a  tuft 
of  dry  bunch-grass. 

The  harshest  mountain-sides,  hot  and  water 
less,  seem  best  adapted  to  the  nut  pine's  de 
velopment.  No  slope  is  too  steep,  none  too 
dry;  every  situation  seems  to  be  gratefully 
chosen,  if  only  it  be  sufficiently  rocky  and  firm 
to  afford  secure  anchorage  for  the  tough,  grasp 
ing  roots.  It  is  a  sturdy,  thickset  little  tree, 
usually  about  fifteen  feet  high  when  full  grown, 
and  about  as  broad  as  high,  holding  its  knotty 
branches  well  out  in  every  direction  in  stiff 
zigzags,  but  turning  them  gracefully  upward 
at  the  ends  in  rounded  bosses.  Though  making 

168 


NEVADA  FORESTS 

so  dark  a  mass  in  the  distance,  the  foliage  is  a 
pale  grayish  green,  in  stiff,  awl-shaped  fascicles. 
When  examined  closely  these  round  needles 
seem  inclined  to  be  two-leaved,  but  they  are 
mostly  held  firmly  together,  as  if  to  guard 
against  evaporation.  The  bark  on  the  older 
sections  is  nearly  black,  so  that  the  boles  and 
branches  are  clearly  traced  against  the  pre 
vailing  gray  of  the  mountains  on  which  they 
delight  to  dwell. 

The  value  of  this  species  to  Nevada  is  not 
easily  overestimated.  It  furnishes  fuel,  char 
coal,  and  timber  for  the  mines,  and,  together 
with  the  enduring  juniper,  so  generally  asso 
ciated  with  it,  supplies  the  ranches  with  abun 
dance  of  firewood  and  rough  fencing.  Many  a 
square  mile  has  already  been  denuded  in  sup 
plying  these  demands,  but,  so  great  is  the  area 
covered  by  it,  no  appreciable  loss  has  as  yet 
been  sustained.  It  is  pretty  generally  known 
that  this  tree  yields  edible  nuts,  but  their 
importance  and  excellence  as  human  food  is 
infinitely  greater  than  is  supposed.  In  fruitful 
seasons  like  this  one,  the  pine-nut  crop  of 
Nevada  is,  perhaps,  greater  than  the  entire 
wheat  crop  of  California,  concerning  which  so 
much  is  said  and  felt  throughout  the  food- 
markets  of  the  world. 

The  Indians  alone  appreciate  this  portion 

169 


STEEP  TRAILS 

of  Nature's  bounty  and  celebrate  the  harvest 
home  with  dancing  and  feasting.  The  cones, 
which  are  a  bright  grass-green  in  color  and 
about  two  inches  long  by  one  and  a  half  in 
diameter,  are  beaten  off  with  poles  just  before 
the  scales  open,  gathered  in  heaps  of  several 
bushels,  and  lightly  scorched  by  burning  a  thin 
covering  of  brushwood  over  them.  The  resin, 
with  which  the  cones  are  bedraggled,  is  thus 
burned  off,  the  nuts  slightly  roasted,  and  the 
scales  made  to  open.  Then  they  are  allowed 
to  dry  in  the  sun,  after  which  the  nuts  are 
easily  thrashed  out  and  are  ready  to  be  stored 
away.  They  are  about  half  an  inch  long  by  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  in  diameter,  pointed  at  the 
upper  end,  rounded  at  the  base,  light-brown 
in  general  color,  and  handsomely  dotted  with 
purple,  like  birds'  eggs.  The  shells  are  thin, 
and  may  be  crushed  between  the  thumb  and 
finger.  The  kernels  are  white  and  waxy-look 
ing,  becoming  brown  by  roasting,  sweet  and 
delicious  to  every  palate,  and  are  eaten  by 
birds,  squirrels,  dogs,  horses,  and  man.  When 
the  crop  is  abundant  the  Indians  bring  in  large 
quantities  for  sale;  they  are  eaten  around  every 
fireside  in  the  State,  and  oftentimes  fed  to 
horses  instead  of  barley. 

Looking  over  the  whole  continent,  none  of 
Nature's  bounties  seems  to  me  so  great  as 

170 


NEVADA  FORESTS 

this  in  the  way  of  food,  none  so  little  appre 
ciated.  Fortunately  for  the  Indians  and  wild 
animals  that  gather  around  Nature's  board, 
this  crop  is  not  easily  harvested  in  a  monopol 
izing  way.  If  it  could  be  gathered  like  wheat 
the  whole  would  be  carried  away  and  dissi 
pated  in  towns,  leaving  the  brave  inhabitants 
of  these  wilds  to  starve. 

Long  before  the  harvest-time,  which  is  in 
September  and  October,  the  Indians  examine 
the  trees  with  keen  discernment,  and  inas 
much  as  the  cones  require  two  years  to  mature 
from  the  first  appearance  of  the  little  red  ro 
settes  of  the  fertile  flowers,  the  scarcity  or 
abundance  of  the  crop  may  be  predicted  more 
than  a  year  in  advance.  Squirrels,  and  worms, 
and  Clarke  crows,  make  haste  to  begin  the 
harvest.  When  the  crop  is  ripe  the  Indians 
make  ready  their  long  beating-poles;  baskets, 
bags,  rags,  mats,  are  gotten  together.  The 
squaws  out  among  the  settlers  at  service, 
washing  and  drudging,  assemble  at  the  family 
huts;  the  men  leave  their  ranch  work;  all,  old 
and  young,  are  mounted  on  ponies,  and  set 
off  in  great  glee  to  the  nut  lands,  forming  cav 
alcades  curiously  picturesque.  Flaming  scarfs 
and  calico  skirts  stream  loosely  over  the 
knotty  ponies,  usually  two  squaws  astride  of 
each,  with  the  small  baby  midgets  bandaged 
171 


STEEP  TRAILS 

in  baskets  slung  on  their  backs,  or  balanced 
upon  the  saddle-bow,  while  the  nut-baskets 
and  water-jars  project  from  either  side,  and 
the  long  beating-poles,  like  old-fashioned 
lances,  angle  out  in  every  direction. 

Arrived  at  some  central  point  already  fixed 
upon,  where  water  and  grass  is  found,  the 
squaws  with  baskets,  the  men  with  poles, 
ascend  the  ridges  to  the  laden  trees,  followed 
by  the  children;  beating  begins  with  loud  noise 
and  chatter;  the  burs  fly  right  and  left,  lodg 
ing  against  stones  and  sagebrush;  the  squaws 
and  children  gather  them  with  fine  natural 
gladness;  smoke-columns  speedily  mark  the 
joyful  scene  of  their  labors  as  the  roasting-fires 
are  kindled;  and,  at  night,  assembled  in  circles, 
garrulous  as  jays,  the  first  grand  nut  feast 
begins.  Sufficient  quantities  are  thus  obtained 
in  a  few  weeks  to  last  all  winter. 

The  Indians  also  gather  several  species  of 
berries  and  dry  them  to  vary  their  stores,  and 
a  few  deer  and  grouse  are  killed  on  the  moun 
tains,  besides  immense  numbers  of  rabbits  and 
hares;  but  the  pine-nuts  are  their  main  de 
pendence  —  their  staff  of  life,  their  bread. 

Insects  also,  scarce  noticed  by  man,  come 
in  for  their  share  of  this  fine  bounty.  Eggs 
are  deposited,  and  the  baby  grubs,  happy  fel 
lows,  find  themselves  in  a  sweet  world  of 

172 


NEVADA  FORESTS 

plenty,  feeding  their  way  through  the  heart 
of  the  cone  from  one  nut-chamber  to  another, 
secure  from  rain  and  wind  and  heat,  until 
their  wings  are  grown  and  they  are  ready  to 
launch  out  into  the  free  ocean  of  air  and  light. 


XIV 

NEVADA'S  TIMBER  BELT  l 

THE  pine  woods  on  the  tops  of  the  Nevada 
mountains  are  already  shining  and  blooming 
in  winter  snow,  making  a  most  blessedly  re 
freshing  appearance  to  the  weary  traveler 
down  on  the  gray  plains.  During  the  fiery 
days  of  summer  the  whole  of  this  vast  region 
seems  so  perfectly  possessed  by  the  sun  that 
the  very  memories  of  pine  trees  and  snow  are 
in  danger  of  being  burned  away,  leaving  one 
but  little  more  than  dust  and  metal.  But 
since  these  first  winter  blessings  have  come, 
the  wealth  and  beauty  of  the  landscapes  have 
come  fairly  into  view,  and  one  is  rendered 
capable  of  looking  and  seeing. 

The  grand  nut-harvest  is  over,  as  far  as  the 
Indians  are  concerned,  though  perhaps  less 
than  one  bushel  in  a  thousand  of  the  whole 
crop  has  been  gathered.  But  the  squirrels  and 
birds  are  still  busily  engaged,  and  by  the  time 
that  Nature's  ends  are  accomplished,  every 
nut  will  doubtless  have  been  put  to  use. 

All  of  the  nine  Nevada  conifers  mentioned 
in  my  last  letter  are  also  found  in  California, 

1  Written  at  Pioche,  Nevada,  in  October,  1878.   [Editor.] 
174 


NEVADA'S  TIMBER  BELT 

excepting  only  the  Rocky  Mountain  spruce, 
which  I  have  not  observed  westward  of  the 
Snake  Range.  So  greatly,  however,  have  they 
been  made  to  vary  by  differences  of  soil  and 
climate,  that  most  of  them  appear  as  distinct 
species.  Without  seeming  in  any  way  dwarfed 
or  repressed  in  habit,  they  nowhere  develop 
to  anything  like  California  dimensions.  A 
height  of  fifty  feet  and  diameter  of  twelve  or 
fourteen  inches  would  probably  be  found  to  be 
above  the  average  size  of  those  cut  for  lumber. 
On  the  margin  of  the  Carson  and  Humboldt 
Sink  the  larger  sage  bushes  are  called  "  heavy 
timber  " ;  and  to  the  settlers  here  any  tree  seems 
large  enough  for  saw-logs. 

Mills  have  been  built  in  the  most  accessible 
canons  of  the  higher  ranges,  and  sufficient 
lumber  of  an  inferior  kind  is  made  to  supply 
most  of  the  local  demand.  The  principal  lum 
ber  trees  of  Nevada  are  the  white  pine  (Pinus 
flexilis),  foxtail  pine,  and  Douglas  spruce,  or 
"red  pine,"  as  it  is  called  here.  Of  these  the 
first  named  is  most  generally  distributed,  being 
found  on  all  the  higher  ranges  throughout  the 
State.  In  botanical  characters  it  is  nearly 
allied  to  the  Weymouth,  or  white,  pine  of  the 
Eastern  States,  and  to  the  sugar  and  moun 
tain  pines  of  the  Sierra.  In  open  situations 
it  branches  near  the  ground  and  tosses  out 
175 


STEEP  TRAILS 

long  down-curving  limbs  all  around,  often 
gaining  in  this  way  a  very  strikingly  pictur 
esque  habit.  It  is  seldom  found  lower  than 
nine  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea, 
but  from  this  height  it  pushes  upward  over 
the  roughest  ledges  to  the  extreme  limit  of 
tree  growth  —  about  eleven  thousand  feet. 

On  the  Hot  Creek,  White  Pine,  and  Golden 
Gate  ranges  we  find  a  still  hardier  and  more 
picturesque  species,  called  the  foxtail  pine, 
from  its  long  dense  leaf-tassels.  About  a  foot 
or  eighteen  inches  of  the  ends  of  the  branches 
are  densely  packed  with  stiff  outstanding  nee 
dles,  which  radiate  all  around  like  an  electric 
fox-  or  squirrel-tail.  The  needles  are  about  an 
inch  and  a  half  long,  slightly  curved,  elastic, 
and  glossily  polished,  so  that  the  sunshine  sift 
ing  through  them  makes  them  burn  with  a 
fine  silvery  luster,  while  their  number  and 
elastic  temper  tell  delightfully  in  the  singing 
winds. 

This  tree  is  preeminently  picturesque,  far 
surpassing  not  only  its  companion  species  of 
the  mountains  in  this  respect,  but  also  the 
most  noted  of  the  lowland  oaks  and  elms. 
Some  stand  firmly  erect,  feathered  with  radiant 
tail  tassels  down  to  the  ground,  forming  slen 
der,  tapering  towers  of  shining  verdure;  others 
with  two  or  three  specialized  branches  pushed 

176 


NEVADA'S  TIMBER  BELT 

out  at  right  angles  to  the  trunk  and  densely 
clad  with  the  tasseled  sprays,  take  the  form 
of  beautiful  ornamental  crosses.  Again,  in 
the  same  woods  you  find  trees  that  are  made 
up  of  several  boles  united  near  the  ground,  and 
spreading  in  easy  curves  at  the  sides  in  a  plane 
parallel  to  the  axis  of  the  mountain,  with  the 
elegant  tassels  hung  in  charming  order  be 
tween  them,  the  whole  making  a  perfect  harp, 
ranged  across  the  main  wind-lines  just  where 
they  may  be  most  effective  in  the  grand  storm 
harmonies.  And  then  there  is  an  infinite  vari 
ety  of  arching  forms,  standing  free  or  in  groups, 
leaning  away  from  or  toward  each  other  in 
curious  architectural  structures,  —  innumer 
able  tassels  drooping  under  the  arches  and 
radiating  above  them,  the  outside  glowing  in 
the  light,  masses  of  deep  shade  beneath,  giving 
rise  to  effects  marvelously  beautiful,  —  while 
on  the  roughest  ledges  of  crumbling  limestone 
are  lowly  old  giants,  five  or  six  feet  in  diameter, 
that  have  braved  the  storms  of  more  than  a 
thousand  years.  But,  whether  old  or  young, 
sheltered  or  exposed  to  the  wildest  gales,  this 
tree  is  ever  found  to  be  irrepressibly  and  ex 
travagantly  picturesque,  offering  a  richer  and 
more  varied  series  of  forms  to  the  artist  than 
any  other  species  I  have  yet  seen. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  mountain  excur- 

177 


STEEP  TRAILS 

sions  I  have  made  in  the  State  was  up  through 
a  thick  spicy  forest  of  these  trees  to  the  top 
of  the  highest  summit  of  the  Troy  Range, 
about  ninety  miles  to  the  south  of  Hamilton. 
The  day  was  full  of  perfect  Indian-summer 
sunshine,  calm  and  bracing.  Jays  and  Clarke 
crows  made  a  pleasant  stir  in  the  foothill 
pines  and  junipers;  grasshoppers  danced  in 
the  hazy  light,  and  rattled  on  the  wing  in  pure 
glee,  reviving  suddenly  from  the  torpor  of  a 
frosty  October  night  to  exuberant  summer 
joy.  The  squirrels  were  working  industri 
ously  among  the  falling  nuts;  ripe  willows  and 
aspens  made  gorgeous  masses  of  color  on  the 
russet  hillsides  and  along  the  edges  of  the 
small  streams  that  threaded  the  higher  ravines; 
and  on  the  smooth  sloping  uplands,  beneath 
the  foxtail  pines  and  firs,  the  ground  was  cov 
ered  with  brown  grasses,  enriched  with  sun 
flowers,  columbines,  and  larkspurs  and  patches 
of  linosyris,  mostly  frost-nipped  and  gone  to 
seed,  yet  making  fine  bits  of  yellow  and  purple 
in  the  general  brown. 

At  a  height  of  about  ninety-five  hundred 
feet  we  passed  through  a  magnificent  grove 
of  aspens,  about  a  hundred  acres  in  extent, 
through  which  the  mellow  sunshine  sifted  in 
ravishing  splendor,  showing  every  leaf  to  be 
as  beautiful  in  color  as  the  wing  of  a  butter- 
178 


NEVADA'S  TIMBER  BELT 

fly,  and  making  them  tell  gloriously  against 
the  evergreens.  These  extensive  groves  of 
aspen  are  a  marked  feature  of  the  Nevada 
woods.  Some  of  the  lower  mountains  are  cov 
ered  with  them,  giving  rise  to  remarkably 
beautiful  effects  in  general  views  —  waving, 
trembling  masses  of  pale,  translucent  green 
in  spring  and  summer,  yellow  and  orange  in 
autumn,  while  in  winter,  after  every  leaf  has 
fallen,  the  white  bark  of  the  boles  and  branches 
seen  in  mass  seems  like  a  cloud  of  mist  that 
has  settled  close  down  on  the  mountain,  con 
forming  to  all  its  hollows  and  ridges  like  a 
mantle,  yet  Toughened  on  the  surface  with 
innumerable  ascending  spires. 

Just  above  the  aspens  we  entered  a  fine, 
close  growth  of  foxtail  pine,  the  tallest  and 
most  evenly  planted  I  had  yet  seen.  It  ex 
tended  along  a  waving  ridge  tending  north  and 
south  and  down  both  sides  with  but  little  in 
terruption  for  a  distance  of  about  five  miles. 
The  trees  were  mostly  straight  in  the  bole,  and 
their  shade  covered  the  ground  in  the  densest 
places,  leaving  only  small  openings  to  the 
sun.  A  few  of  the  tallest  specimens  measured 
over  eighty  feet,  with  a  diameter  of  eighteen 
inches;  but  many  of  the  younger  trees,  grow 
ing  in  tufts,  were  nearly  fifty  feet  high,  with  a 
diameter  of  only  five  or  six  inches,  while  their 

179 


STEEP  TRAILS 

slender  shafts  were  hidden  from  top  to  bottom 
by  a  close,  fringy  growth  of  tasseled  branch- 
lets.  A  few  white  pines  and  balsam  firs  occur 
here  and  there,  mostly  around  the  edges  of 
sunny  openings,  where  they  enrich  the  ah* 
with  their  rosiny  fragrance,  and  bring  out  the 
peculiar  beauties  of  the  predominating  foxtails 
by  contrast. 

Birds  find  grateful  homes  here  —  grouse, 
chickadees,  and  linnets,  of  which  we  saw 
large  flocks  that  had  a  delightfully  enlivening 
effect.  But  the  woodpeckers  are  remarkably 
rare.  Thus  far  I  have  noticed  only  one  species, 
the  golden- winged;  and  but  few  of  the  streams 
are  large  enough  or  long  enough  to  attract  the 
blessed  ousel,  so  common  in  the  Sierra. 

On  Wheeler's  Peak,  the  dominating  sum 
mit  of  the  Snake  Mountains,  I  found  all  the 
conifers  I  had  seen  on  the  other  ranges  of  the 
State,  excepting  the  foxtail  pine,  which  I  have 
not  observed  further  east  than  the  White  Pine 
range,  but  in  its  stead  the  beautiful  Rocky 
Mountain  spruce.  First,  as  in  the  other 
ranges,  we  find  the  juniper  and  nut  pine;  then, 
higher,  the  white  pine  and  balsam  fir;  then  the 
Douglas  spruce  and  this  new  Rocky  Moun 
tain  spruce,  which  is  common  eastward  from 
here,  though  this  range  is,  as  far  as  I  have  ob 
served,  its  western  limit.  It  is  one  of  the  larg- 

180 


NEVADA'S  TIMBER  BELT 

est  and  most  important  of  Nevada  conifers, 
attaining  a  height  of  from  sixty  to  eighty  feet 
and  a  diameter  of  nearly  two  feet,  while  now 
and  then  an  exceptional  specimen  may  be  found 
in  shady  dells  a  hundred  feet  high  or  more. 

The  foliage  is  bright  yellowish  and  bluish 
green,  according  to  exposure  and  age,  growing 
all  around  the  branchlets,  though  inclined  to 
turn  upward  from  the  under  sides,  like  that 
of  the  plushy  firs  of  California,  making  re 
markably  handsome  fernlike  plumes.  While 
yet  only  mere  saplings  five  or  six  inches  thick 
at  the  ground,  they  measure  fifty  or  sixty  feet 
in  height  and  are  beautifully  clothed  with 
broad,  level,  fronded  plumes  down  to  the  base, 
preserving  a  strict  arrowy  outline,  though  a 
few  of  the  larger  branches  shoot  out  in  free 
exuberance,  relieving  the  spire  from  any  un- 
picturesque  stiffness  of  aspect,  while  the  coni 
cal  summit  is  crowded  with  thousands  of  rich 
brown  cones  to  complete  its  beauty. 

We  made  the  ascent  of  the  peak  just  after 
the  first  storm  had  whitened  its  summit  and 
brightened  the  atmosphere.  The  foot-slopes 
are  like  those  of  the  Troy  range,  only  more 
evenly  clad  with  grasses.  After  tracing  a  long, 
rugged  ridge  of  exceedingly  hard  quartzite, 
said  to  be  veined  here  and  there  with  gold, 
we  came  to  the  North  Dome,  a  noble  sum- 

181 


STEEP  TRAILS 

mit  rising  about  a  thousand  feet  above  the 
timber-line,  its  slopes  heavily  tree-clad  all 
around,  but  most  perfectly  on  the  north.  Here 
the  Rocky  Mountain  spruce  forms  the  bulk 
of  the  forest.  The  cones  were  ripe;  most  of 
them  had  shed  their  winged  seeds,  and  the 
shell-like  scales  were  conspicuously  spread, 
making  rich  masses  of  brown  from  the  tops 
of  the  fertile  trees  down  halfway  to  the  ground, 
cone  touching  cone  in  lavish  clusters.  A  single 
branch  that  might  be  carried  in  the  hand 
would  be  found  to  bear  a  hundred  or  more. 

Some  portions  of  the  wood  were  almost  im 
penetrable,  but  in  general  we  found  no  diffi 
culty  in  mazing  comfortably  on  over  fallen  logs 
and  under  the  spreading  boughs,  while  here 
and  there  we  came  to  an  opening  sufficiently 
spacious  for  standpoints,  where  the  trees 
around  their  margins  might  be  seen  from  top 
to  bottom.  The  winter  sunshine  streamed 
through  the  clustered  spires,  glinting  and 
breaking  into  a  fine  dust  of  spangles  on  the 
spiky  leaves  and  beads  of  amber  gum,  and 
bringing  out  the  reds  and  grays  and  yellows 
of  the  lichened  boles  which  had  been  freshened 
by  the  late  storm;  while  the  tip  of  every  spire 
looking  up  through  the  shadows  was  dipped 
in  deepest  blue. 

The    ground  was  strewn  with    burs  and 

182 


NEVADA'S  TIMBER  BELT 

needles  and  fallen  trees;  and,  down  in  the  dells, 
on  the  north  side  of  the  dome,  where  strips  of 
aspen  are  imbedded  in  the  spruces,  every 
breeze  sent  the  ripe  leaves  flying,  some  lodging 
in  the  spruce  boughs,  making  them  bloom 
again,  while  the  fresh  snow  beneath  looked 
like  a  fine  painting. 

Around  the  dome  and  well  up  toward  the 
summit  of  the  main  peak,  the  snow-shed  was 
well  marked  with  tracks  of  the  mule  deer  and 
the  pretty  stitching  and  embroidery  of  field 
mice,  squirrels,  and  grouse;  and  on  the  way 
back  to  camp  I  came  across  a  strange  track, 
somewhat  like  that  of  a  small  bear,  but  more 
spreading  at  the  toes.  It  proved  to  be  that  of  a 
wolverine.  In  my  conversations  with  hunters, 
both  Indians  and  white  men  assure  me  that 
there  are  no  bears  in  Nevada,  notwithstand 
ing  the  abundance  of  pine-nuts,  of  which  they 
are  so  fond,  and  the  accessibility  of  these  basin 
ranges  from  their  favorite  haunts  in  the  Sierra 
Nevada  and  Wahsatch  Mountains.  The  mule 
deer,  antelope,  wild  sheep,  wolverine,  and  two 
species  of  wolves  are  all  of  the  larger  animals 
that  I  have  seen  or  heard  of  in  the  State. 


XV 

GLACIAL  PHENOMENA  IN  NEVADA  1 

THE  monuments  of  the  Ice  Age  in  the  Great 
Basin  have  been  greatly  obscured  and  broken, 
many  of  the  more  ancient  of  them  having 
perished  altogether,  leaving  scarce  a  mark, 
however  faint,  of  their  existence  —  a  condi 
tion  of  things  due  not  alone  to  the  long-con 
tinued  action  of  post-glacial  agents,  but  also 
in  great  part  to  the  perishable  character  of 
the  rocks  of  which  they  were  made.  The  bot 
toms  of  the  main  valleys,  once  grooved  and 
planished  like  the  glacier  pavements  of  the 
Sierra,  lie  buried  beneath  sediments  and  detri 
tus  derived  from  the  adjacent  mountains,  and 
now  form  the  arid  sage  plains;  characteristic 
U-shaped  canons  have  become  V-shaped  by 
the  deepening  of  their  bottoms  and  straight 
ening  of  their  sides,  and  decaying  glacier  head 
lands  have  been  undermined  and  thrown  down 
in  loose  taluses,  while  most  of  the  moraines 
and  striae  and  scratches  have  been  blurred 
or  weathered  away.  Nevertheless,  enough  re 
mains  of  the  more  recent  and  the  more  enduring 

1  Written    at    Eureka,    Nevada,    in    November,    1878. 
[Editor.] 

184 


GLACIAL  PHENOMENA  IN  NEVADA 

phenomena  to  cast  a  good  light  well  back  upon 
the  conditions  of  the  ancient  ice-sheet  that 
covered  this  interesting  region,  and  upon  the 
system  of  distinct  glaciers  that  loaded  the 
tops  of  the  mountains  and  filled  the  canons 
long  after  the  ice-sheet  had  been  broken  up. 

The  first  glacial  traces  that  I  noticed  in  the 
basin  are  on  the  Wassuck,  Augusta,  and  To- 
yabe  ranges,  consisting  of  ridges  and  canons, 
whose  trends,  contours,  and  general  sculpture 
are  hi  great  part  specifically  glacial,  though 
deeply  blurred  by  subsequent  denudation. 
These  discoveries  were  made  during  the  sum 
mer  of  1876-77.  And  again,  on  the  17th  of 
last  August,  while  making  the  ascent  of  Mount 
Jefferson,  the  dominating  mountain  of  the 
Toquima  range,  I  discovered  an  exceedingly 
interesting  group  of  moraines,  canons  with  V- 
shaped  cross  sections,  wide  neVe*  amphitheatres, 
moutonneed  rocks,  glacier  meadows,  and  one 
glacier  lake,  all  as  fresh  and  telling  as  if  the 
glaciers  to  which  they  belonged  had  scarcely 
vanished. 

The  best  preserved  and  most  regular  of  the 
moraines  are  two  laterals  about  two  hundred 
feet  in  height  and  two  miles  long,  extending 
from  the  foot  of  a  magnificent  canon  valley 
on  the  north  side  of  the  mountain  and  trend 
ing  first  in  a  northerly  direction,  then  curving 

185 


STEEP  TRAILS 

around  to  the  west,  while  a  well-characterized 
terminal  moraine,  formed  by  the  glacier  to 
wards  the  close  of  its  existence,  unites  them 
near  their  lower  extremities  at  a  height  of 
eighty-five  hundred  feet.  Another  pair  of 
older  lateral  moraines,  belonging  to  a  glacier 
of  which  the  one  just  mentioned  was  a  tribu 
tary,  extend  in  a  general  northwesterly  direc 
tion  nearly  to  the  level  of  Big  Smoky  Valley, 
about  fifty-five  hundred  feet  above  sea-level. 

Four  other  canons,  extending  down  the 
eastern  slopes  of  this  grand  old  mountain  into 
Monito  Valley,  are  hardly  less  rich  in  glacial 
records,  while  the  effects  of  the  mountain- 
shadows  in  controlling  and  directing  the  move 
ments  of  the  residual  glaciers  to  which  all  these 
phenomena  belonged  are  everywhere  delight 
fully  apparent  in  the  trends  of  the  canons 
and  ridges,  and  in  the  massive  sculpture  of 
the  neVe"  wombs  at  their  heads.  This  is  a  very 
marked  and  imposing  mountain,  attracting 
the  eye  from  a  great  distance.  It  presents  a 
smooth  and  gently  curved  outline  against  the 
sky,  as  observed  from  the  plains,  and  is  whit 
ened  with  patches  of  enduring  snow.  The 
summit  is  made  up  of  irregular  volcanic  tables, 
the  most  extensive  of  which  is  about  two  and 
a  half  miles  long,  and  like  the  smaller  ones 
is  broken  abruptly  down  on  the  edges  by  the 

186 


GLACIAL  PHENOMENA  IN  NEVADA 

action  of  the  ice.  Its  height  is  approximately 
eleven  thousand  three  hundred  feet  above  the 
sea. 

A  few  days  after  making  these  interesting 
discoveries,  I  found  other  well-preserved  gla 
cial  traces  on  Arc  Dome,  the  culminating  sum 
mit  of  the  Toyabe  Range.  On  its  northeastern 
slopes  there  are  two  small  glacier  lakes,  and 
the  basins  of  two  others  which  have  recently 
been  filled  with  down-washed  detritus.  One 
small  residual  glacier  lingered  until  quite  re 
cently  beneath  the  coolest  shadows  of  the 
dome,  the  moraines  and  n6v£-fountains  of 
which  are  still  as  fresh  and  unwasted  as  many 
of  those  lying  at  the  same  elevation  on  the 
Sierra  —  ten  thousand  feet  —  while  older  and 
more  wasted  specimens  may  be  traced  on  all 
the  adjacent  mountains.  The  sculpture,  too, 
of  all  the  ridges  and  summits  of  this  section 
of  the  range  is  recognized  at  once  as  glacial, 
some  of  the  larger  characters  being  still  easily 
readable  from  the  plains  at  a  distance  of  fif 
teen  or  twenty  miles. 

The  Hot  Creek  Mountains,  lying  to  the 
east  of  the  Toquima  and  Monito  ranges, 
reach  the  culminating  point  on  a  deeply  ser 
rate  ridge  at  a  height  of  ten  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea.  This  ridge  is  found  to  be  made 
up  of  a  series  of  imposing  towers  and  pinnacles 

187 


STEEP  TRAILS 

which  have  been  eroded  from  the  solid  mass  of 
the  mountain  by  a  group  of  small  residual 
glaciers  that  lingered  in  their  shadows  long 
after  the  larger  ice  rivers  had  vanished.  On 
its  western  declivities  are  found  a  group  of 
well-characterized  moraines,  canons,  and  roches 
moutonnfas,  all  of  which  are  unmistakably 
fresh  and  telling.  The  moraines  in  particular 
could  hardly  fail  to  attract  the  eye  of  any 
observer.  Some  of  the  short  laterals  of  the 
glaciers  that  drew  their  fountain  snows  from 
the  jagged  recesses  of  the  summit  are  from 
one  to  two  hundred  feet  in  height,  and  scarce 
at  all  wasted  as  yet,  notwithstanding  the 
countless  storms  that  have  fallen  upon  them, 
while  cool  rills  flow  between  them,  watering 
charming  gardens  of  arctic  plants  —  saxi 
frages,  larkspurs,  dwarf  birch,  ribes,  and  par- 
nassia,  etc.  —  beautiful  memories  of  the  Ice 
Age,  representing  a  once  greatly  extended 
flora. 

In  the  course  of  explorations  made  to  the 
eastward  of  here,  between  the  38th  and  40th 
parallels,  I  observed  glacial  phenomena  equally 
fresh  and  demonstrative  on  all  the  higher 
mountains  of  the  White  Pine,  Golden  Gate, 
and  Snake  ranges,  varying  from  those  already 
described  only  as  determined  by  differences  of 
elevation,  relations  to  the  snow-bearing  winds, 

188 


GLACIAL  PHENOMENA  IN  NEVADA 

and  the  physical  characteristics  of  the  rock- 
formations. 

On  the  Jeff  Davis  group  of  the  Snake  Range, 
the  dominating  summit  of  which  is  nearly 
thirteen  thousand  feet  hi  elevation,  and  the 
highest  ground  in  the  basin,  every  marked  fea 
ture  is  a  glacier  monument  —  peaks,  valleys, 
ridges,  meadows,  and  lakes.  And  because  here 
the  snow-fountains  lay  at  a  greater  height, 
while  the  rock,  an  exceedingly  hard  quartz- 
ite,  offered  superior  resistance  to  post-glacial 
agents,  the  ice-characters  are  on  a  larger  scale, 
and  are  more  sharply  defined  than  any  we 
have  noticed  elsewhere,  and  it  is  probably 
here  that  the  last  lingering  glacier  of  the  basin 
was  located.  The  summits  and  connecting 
ridges  are  mere  blades  and  points,  ground 
sharp  by  the  glaciers  that  descended  on  both 
sides  to  the  main  valleys.  From  one  stand 
point  I  counted  nine  of  these  glacial  channels 
with  their  moraines  sweeping  grandly  out  to 
the  plains  to  deep  sheer- walled  n6v£-fountains 
at  their  heads,  making  a  most  vivid  picture 
of  the  last  days  of  the  Ice  Period. 

I  have  thus  far  directed  attention  only  to 
the  most  recent  and  appreciable  of  the  phe 
nomena;  but  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that 
less  recent  and  less  obvious  traces  of  glacial 
action  abound  on  all  the  ranges  throughout 

189 


STEEP  TRAILS 

the  entire  basin,  where  the  fine  striae  and 
grooves  have  been  obliterated,  and  most  of 
the  moraines  have  been  washed  away,  or  so 
modified  as  to  be  no  longer  recognizable,  and 
even  the  lakes  and  meadows,  so  characteristic 
of  glacial  regions,  have  almost  entirely  van 
ished.  For  there  are  other  monuments,  far 
more  enduring  than  these,  remaining  tens  of 
thousands  of  years  after  the  more  perishable 
records  are  lost.  Such  are  the  canons,  ridges, 
and  peaks  themselves,  the  glacial  peculiari 
ties  of  whose  trends  and  contours  cannot  be 
hid  from  the  eye  of  the  skilled  observer  until 
changes  have  been  wrought  upon  them  far 
more  destructive  than  those  to  which  these 
basin  ranges  have  yet  been  subjected. 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  the  last  of  the 
basin  glaciers  have  but  recently  vanished,  and 
that  the  almost  innumerable  ranges  trending 
north  and  south  between  the  Sierra  and  the 
Wahsatch  Mountains  were  loaded  with  glaciers 
that  descended  to  the  adjacent  valleys  during 
the  last  glacial  period,  and  that  it  is  to  this 
mighty  host  of  ice-streams  that  all  the  more 
characteristic  of  the  present  features  of  these 
mountain-ranges  are  due. 

But  grand  as  is  this  vision  delineated  in 
these  old  records,  this  is  not  all;  for  there  is 
not  wanting  evidence  of  a  still  grander  glacia- 

190 


GLACIAL  PHENOMENA  IN  NEVADA 

tion  extending  over  all  the  valleys  now  form 
ing  the  sage  plains  as  well  as  the  mountains. 
The  basins  of  the  main  valleys  alternating 
with  the  mountain-ranges,  and  which  contained 
lakes  during  at  least  the  closing  portion  of 
the  Ice  Period,  were  eroded  wholly,  or  in  part, 
from  a  general  elevated  tableland,  by  immense 
glaciers  that  flowed  north  and  south  to  the 
ocean.  The  mountains  as  well  as  the  valleys 
present  abundant  evidence  of  this  grand  origin. 
The  flanks  of  all  the  interior  ranges  are  seen 
to  have  been  heavily  abraded  and  ground 
away  by  the  ice  acting  in  a  direction  parallel 
with  their  axes.  This  action  is  most  strikingly 
shown  upon  projecting  portions  where  the 
pressure  has  been  greatest.  These  are  shorn 
off  in  smooth  planes  and  bossy  outswelling 
curves,  like  the  outstanding  portions  of  canon- 
walls.  Moreover,  the  extremities  of  the  ranges 
taper  out  like  those  of  dividing  ridges  which 
have  been  ground  away  by  dividing  and  con 
fluent  glaciers.  Furthermore,  the  horizontal 
sections  of  separate  mountains,  standing  iso 
lated  hi  the  great  valleys,  are  lens-shaped  like 
those  of  mere  rocks  that  rise  in  the  channels 
of  ordinary  canon  glaciers,  and  which  have 
been  overflowed  or  past-flowed,  while  in  many 
of  the  smaller  valleys  roches  moutonnees  occur 
in  great  abundance. 

191 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Again,  the  mineralogical  and  physical  char 
acters  of  the  two  ranges  bounding  the  sides  of 
many  of  the  valleys  indicate  that  the  valleys 
were  formed  simply  by  the  removal  of  the 
material  between  the  ranges.  And  again,  the 
rim  of  the  general  basin,  where  it  is  elevated, 
as  for  example  on  the  southwestern  portion, 
instead  of  being  a  ridge  sculptured  on  the  sides 
like  a  mountain-range,  is  found  to  be  com 
posed  of  many  short  ranges,  parallel  to  one 
another,  and  to  the  interior  ranges,  and  so 
modeled  as  to  resemble  a  row  of  convex  lenses 
set  on  edge  and  half  buried  beneath  a  general 
surface,  without  manifesting  any  dependence 
upon  synclinal  or  anticlinal  axes  —  a  series 
of  forms  and  relations  that  could  have  resulted 
only  from  the  outflow  of  vast  basin  glaciers 
on  their  courses  to  the  ocean. 

I  cannot,  however,  present  all  the  evidence 
here  bearing  upon  these  interesting  questions, 
much  less  discuss  it  in  all  its  relations.  I  will, 
therefore,  close  this  letter  with  a  few  of  the 
more  important  generalizations  that  have 
grown  up  out  of  the  facts  that  I  have  observed. 
First,  at  the  beginning  of  the  glacial  period 
the  region  now  known  as  the  Great  Basin  was 
an  elevated  tableland,  not  furrowed  as  at 
present  with  mountains  and  valleys,  but  com 
paratively  bald  and  featureless. 

192 


GLACIAL  PHENOMENA  IN  NEVADA 

Second,  this  tableland,  bounded  on  the  east 
and  west  by  lofty  mountain-ranges,  but  com 
paratively  open  on  the  north  and  south,  was 
loaded  with  ice,  which  was  discharged  to  the 
ocean  northward  and  southward,  and  in  its 
flow  brought  most,  if  not  all,  the  present  in 
terior  ranges  and  valleys  into  relief  by  erosion. 

Third,  as  the  glacial  winter  drew  near  its 
close  the  ice  vanished  from  the  lower  portions 
of  the  basin,  which  then  became  lakes,  into 
which  separate  glaciers  descended  from  the 
mountains.  Then  these  mountain  glaciers  van 
ished  in  turn,  after  sculpturing  the  ranges 
into  their  present  condition. 

Fourth,  the  few  immense  lakes  extending 
over  the  lowlands,  in  the  midst  of  which  many 
of  the  interior  ranges  stood  as  islands,  be 
came  shallow  as  the  ice  vanished  from  the 
mountains,  and  separated  into  many  distinct 
lakes,  whose  waters  no  longer  reached  the 
ocean.  Most  of  these  have  disappeared  by  the 
filling  of  their  basins  with  detritus  from  the 
mountains,  and  now  form  sage  plains  and  "al 
kali  flats." 

The  transition  from  one  to  the  other  of  these 
various  conditions  was  gradual  and  orderly: 
first,  a  nearly  simple  tableland;  then  a  grand 
mer  de  glace  shedding  its  crawling  silver  cur 
rents  to  the  sea,  and  becoming  gradually  more 

193 


STEEP  TRAILS 

wrinkled  as  unequal  erosion  roughened  its 
bed,  and  brought  the  highest  peaks  and  ridges 
above  the  surface;  then  a  land  of  lakes,  an 
almost  continuous  sheet  of  water  stretching 
from  the  Sierra  to  the  Wahsatch,  adorned  with 
innumerable  island  mountains;  then  a  slow 
desiccation  and  decay  to  present  conditions 
of  sage  and  sand. 


XVI 

NEVADA'S  DEAD  TOWNS  * 

NEVADA  is  one  of  the  very  youngest  and 
wildest  of  the  States;  nevertheless  it  is  already 
strewn  with  ruins  that  seem  as  gray  and  silent 
and  time-worn  as  if  the  civilization  to  which 
they  belonged  had  perished  centuries  ago. 
Yet,  strange  to  say,  all  these  ruins  are  results 
of  mining  efforts  made  within  the  last  few 
years.  Wander  where  you  may  throughout 
the  length  and  breadth  of  this  mountain- 
barred  wilderness,  you  everywhere  come  upon 
these  dead  mining  towns,  with  their  tall  chim 
ney-stacks,  standing  forlorn  amid  broken  walls 
and  furnaces,  and  machinery  half  buried  in 
sand,  the  very  names  of  many  of  them  already 
forgotten  amid  the  excitements  of  later  dis 
coveries,  and  now  known  only  through  tradi 
tion  —  tradition  ten  years  old. 

While  exploring  the  mountain-ranges  of  the 
State  during  a  considerable  portion  of  three 
summers,  I  think  that  I  have  seen  at  least  five 
of  these  deserted  towns  and  villages  for  every 
one  in  ordinary  life.  Some  of  them  were  prob- 

1  Date  and  place  of  writing  not  given.   Published  in  the 
San  Francisco  Evening  Bulletin,  January  15,  1879.  [Editor.] 

195 


STEEP  TRAILS 

ably  only  camps  built  by  bands  of  prospec 
tors,  and  inhabited  for  a  few  months  or  years, 
while  some  specially  interesting  canon  was 
being  explored,  and  then  carelessly  abandoned 
for  more  promising  fields.  But  many  were 
real  towns,  regularly  laid  out  and  incorpo 
rated,  containing  well-built  hotels,  churches, 
school-houses,  post-offices,  and  jails,  as  well 
as  the  mills  on  which  they  all  depended;  and 
whose  well-graded  streets  were  filled  with 
lawyers,  doctors,  brokers,  hangmen,  real-estate 
agents,  etc.,  the  whole  population  numbering 
several  thousand. 

A  few  years  ago  the  population  of  Hamil 
ton  is  said  to  have  been  nearly  eight  thousand; 
that  of  Treasure  Hill,  six  thousand;  of  Sher- 
mantown,  seven  thousand;  of  Swansea,  three 
thousand.  All  of  these  were  incorporated  towns 
with  mayors,  councils,  fire  departments,  and 
daily  newspapers.  Hamilton  has  now  about 
one  hundred  inhabitants,  most  of  whom  are 
merely  waiting  in  dreary  inaction  for  some 
thing  to  turn  up.  Treasure  Hill  has  about  half 
as  many,  Shermantown  one  family,  and  Swan 
sea  none,  while  on  the  other  hand  the  grave 
yards  are  far  too  full. 

In  one  canon  of  the  Toyabe  range,  near 
Austin,  I  found  no  less  than  five  dead  towns 
without  a  single  inhabitant.  The  streets  and 

196 


NEVADA'S  DEAD  TOWNS 

blocks  of  "real  estate"  graded  on  the  hillsides 
are  rapidly  falling  back  into  the  wilderness. 
Sage-brushes  are  growing  up  around  the  forges 
of  the  blacksmith  shops,  and  lizards  bask  on 
the  crumbling  walls. 

While  traveling  southward  from  Austin 
down  Big  Smoky  Valley,  I  noticed  a  remark 
ably  tall  and  imposing  column,  rising  like  a 
lone  pine  out  of  the  sage-brush  on  the  edge  of 
a  dry  gulch.  This  proved  to  be  a  smokestack 
of  solid  masonry.  It  seemed  strangely  out  of 
place  in  the  desert,  as  if  it  had  been  trans 
ported  entire  from  the  heart  of  some  noisy 
manufacturing  town  and  left  here  by  mistake. 
I  learned  afterwards  that  it  belonged  to  a  set 
of  furnaces  that  were  built  by  a  New  York 
company  to  smelt  ore  that  never  was  found. 
The  tools  of  the  workmen  are  still  lying  in 
place  beside  the  furnaces,  as  if  dropped  in 
some  sudden  Indian  or  earthquake  panic  and 
never  afterwards  handled.  These  imposing 
ruins,  together  with  the  desolate  town,  lying 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  northward,  present 
a  most  vivid  picture  of  wasted  effort.  Coyotes 
now  wander  unmolested  through  the  brushy 
streets,  and  of  all  the  busy  throng  that  so  lav 
ishly  spent  their  tune  and  money  here  only 
one  man  remains  —  a  lone  bachelor  with  one 
suspender. 

197 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Mining  discoveries  and  progress,  retrogres 
sion  and  decay,  seem  to  have  been  crowded 
more  closely  against  each  other  here  than  on 
any  other  portion  of  the  globe.  Some  one  of 
the  band  of  adventurous  prospectors  who 
came  from  the  exhausted  placers  of  California 
would  discover  some  rich  ore  —  how  much  or 
little  mattered  not  at  first.  These  specimens 
fell  among  excited  seekers  after  wealth  like 
sparks  in  gunpowder,  and  in  a  few  days  the 
wilderness  was  disturbed  with  the  noisy  clang 
of  miners  and  builders.  A  little  town  would 
then  spring  up,  and  before  anything  like  a 
careful  survey  of  any  particular  lode  would  be 
made,  a  company  would  be  formed,  and  expen 
sive  mills  built.  Then,  after  all  the  machinery 
was  ready  for  the  ore,  perhaps  little,  or  none  at 
all,  was  to  be  found.  Meanwhile  another  dis 
covery  was  reported,  and  the  young  town  was 
abandoned  as  completely  as  a  camp  made  for  a 
single  night ;  and  so  on,  until  some  really  valuable 
lode  was  found,  such  as  those  of  Eureka,  Austin, 
Virginia,  etc.,  which  formed  the  substantial 
groundwork  for  a  thousand  other  excitements. 

Passing  through  the  dead  town  of  Schell- 
bourne  last  month,  I  asked  one  of  the  few  lin 
gering  inhabitants  why  the  town  was  built. 
"For  the  mines,"  he  replied.  "And  where  are 
the  mines?"  "On  the  mountains  back  here." 

198 


NEVADA'S  DEAD  TOWNS 

"And  why  were  they  abandoned?"  I  asked. 
"Are  they  exhausted?"  "Oh,  no,"  he  replied, 
"they  are  not  exhausted;  on  the  contrary, 
they  have  never  been  worked  at  all,  for  un 
fortunately,  just  as  we  were  about  ready  to 
open  them,  the  Cherry  Creek  mines  were  dis 
covered  across  the  valley  in  the  Egan  range,  and 
everybody  rushed  off  there,  taking  what  they 
could  with  them  —  houses,  machinery,  and  all. 
But  we  are  hoping  that  somebody  with  money 
and  speculation  will  come  and  revive  us  yet." 
The  dead  mining  excitements  of  Nevada 
were  far  more  intense  and  destructive  in  their 
action  than  those  of  California,  because  the 
prizes  at  stake  were  greater,  while  more  skill 
was  required  to  gain  them.  The  long  trains 
of  gold-seekers  making  their  way  to  California 
had  ample  time  and  means  to  recover  from 
their  first  attacks  of  mining  fever  while  crawl 
ing  laboriously  across  the  plains,  and  on  their 
arrival  on  any  portion  of  the  Sierra  gold  belt, 
they  at  once  began  to  make  money.  No  mat 
ter  in  what  gulch  or  canon  they  worked,  some 
measure  of  success  was  sure,  however  unskill 
ful  they  might  be.  And  though  while  making 
ten  dollars  a  day  they  might  be  agitated  by 
hopes  of  making  twenty,  or  of  striking  their 
picks  against  hundred-  or  thousand-dollar 
nuggets,  men  of  ordinary  nerve  could  still 

199 


STEEP  TRAILS 

work  on  with  comparative  steadiness,  and 
remain  rational. 

But  in  the  case  of  the  Nevada  miner,  he 
too  often  spent  himself  in  years  of  weary  search 
without  gaining  a  dollar,  traveling  hundreds 
of  miles  from  mountain  to  mountain,  burdened 
with  wasting  hopes  of  discovering  some  hidden 
vein  worth  millions,  enduring  hardships  of 
the  most  destructive  kind,  driving  innumer 
able  tunnels  into  the  hillsides,  while  his  as 
sayed  specimens  again  and  again  proved 
worthless.  Perhaps  one  in  a  hundred  of  these 
brave  prospectors  would  "  strike  it  rich,"  while 
ninety-nine  died  alone  in  the  mountains  or 
sank  out  of  sight  in  the  corners  of  saloons,  in 
a  haze  of  whiskey  and  tobacco  smoke. 

The  healthful  ministry  of  wealth  is  blessed; 
and  surely  it  is  a  fine  thing  that  so  many  are 
eager  to  find  the  gold  and  silver  that  he  hid 
in  the  veins  of  the  mountains.  But  in  the 
search  the  seekers  too  often  become  insane, 
and  strike  about  blindly  in  the  dark  like  rav 
ing  madmen.  Seven  hundred  and  fifty  tons 
of  ore  from  the  original  Eberhardt  mine  on 
Treasure  Hill  yielded  a  million  and  a  half  dol 
lars,  the  whole  of  this  immense  sum  having 
been  obtained  within  two  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  of  the  surface,  the  greater  portion  within 
one  hundred  and  forty  feet.  Other  ore-masses 

200 


NEVADA'S  DEAD  TOWNS 

were  scarcely  less  marvelously  rich,  giving  rise 
to  one  of  the  most  violent  excitements  that 
ever  occurred  in  the  history  of  mining.  All 
kinds  of  people  —  shoemakers,  tailors,  farmers, 
etc.,  as  well  as  miners  —  left  their  own  right 
work  and  fell  in  a  perfect  storm  of  energy  upon 
the  White  Pine  Hills,  covering  the  ground  like 
grasshoppers,  and  seeming  determined  by  the 
very  violence  of  their  efforts  to  turn  every 
stone  to  silver.  But  with  few  exceptions,  these 
mining  storms  pass  away  about  as  suddenly 
as  they  rise,  leaving  only  ruins  to  tell  of  the 
tremendous  energy  expended,  as  heaps  of  giant 
boulders  in  the  valley  tell  of  the  spent  power 
of  the  mountain  floods. 

In  marked  contrast  with  this  destructive 
unrest  is  the  orderly  deliberation  into  which 
miners  settle  in  developing  a  truly  valuable 
mine.  At  Eureka  we  were  kindly  led  through 
the  treasure  chambers  of  the  Richmond  and 
Eureka  Consolidated,  our  guides  leisurely  lead 
ing  the  way  from  level  to  level,  calling  atten 
tion  to  the  precious  ore-masses  which  the  work 
men  were  slowly  breaking  to  pieces  with  their 
picks,  like  navvies  wearing  away  the  day  in  a 
railroad  cutting;  while  down  at  the  smelting 
works  the  bars  of  bullion  were  handled  with 
less  eager  haste  than  the  farmer  shows  in  gath 
ering  his  sheaves. 

201 


STEEP  TRAILS 

The  wealth  Nevada  has  already  given  to 
the  world  is  indeed  wonderful,  but  the  only 
grand  marvel  is  the  energy  expended  in  its 
development.  The  amount  of  prospecting 
done  in  the  face  of  so  many  dangers  and  sacri 
fices,  the  innumerable  tunnels  and  shafts  bored 
into  the  mountains,  the  mills  that  have  been 
built  —  these  would  seem  to  require  a  race  of 
giants.  But,  in  full  view  of  the  substantial 
results  achieved,  the  pure  waste  manifest  in 
the  ruins  one  meets  never  fails  to  produce  a 
saddening  effect. 

The  dim  old  ruins  of  Europe,  so  eagerly 
sought  after  by  travelers,  have  something 
pleasing  about  them,  whatever  their  histori 
cal  associations;  for  they  at  least  lend  some 
beauty  to  the  landscape.  Their  picturesque 
towers  and  arches  seem  to  be  kindly  adopted 
by  nature,  and  planted  with  wild  flowers  and 
wreathed  with  ivy;  while  their  rugged  angles 
are  soothed  and  freshened  and  embossed  with 
green  mosses,  fresh  life  and  decay  mingling  in 
pleasing  measures,  and  the  whole  vanishing 
softly  like  a  ripe,  tranquil  day  fading  into  night. 
So,  also,  among  the  older  ruins  of  the  East  there 
is  a  fitness  felt.  They  have  served  their  time, 
and  like  the  weather-beaten  mountains  are  wast 
ing  harmoniously.  The  same  is  in  some  degree 
true  of  the  dead  mining  towns  of  Calif ornia. 


NEVADA'S  DEAD  TOWNS 

But  those  lying  to  the  eastward  of  the  Sierra 
throughout  the  ranges  of  the  Great  Basin 
waste  in  the  dry  wilderness  like  the  bones  of 
cattle  that  have  died  of  thirst.  Many  of  them 
do  not  represent  any  good  accomplishment, 
and  have  no  right  to  be.  They  are  monuments 
of  fraud  and  ignorance  —  sins  against  science. 
The  drifts  and  tunnels  in  the  rocks  may  per 
haps  be  regarded  as  the  prayers  of  the  pros 
pector,  offered  for  the  wealth  he  so  earnestly 
craves;  but,  like  prayers  of  any  kind  not  in 
harmony  with  nature,  they  are  unanswered. 
But,  after  all,  effort,  however  misapplied,  is 
better  than  stagnation.  Better  toil  blindly, 
beating  every  stone  in  turn  for  grains  of  gold, 
whether  they  contain  any  or  not,  than  lie 
down  in  apathetic  decay. 

The  fever  period  is  fortunately  passing  away. 
The  prospector  is  no  longer  the  raving,  wan 
dering  ghoul  of  ten  years  ago,  rushing  in  ran 
dom  lawlessness  among  the  hills,  hungry  and 
footsore;  but  cool  and  skillful,  well  supplied 
with  every  necessary,  and  clad  in  his  right 
mind.  Capitalists,  too,  and  the  public  in  gen 
eral,  have  become  wiser,  and  do  not  take  fire 
so  readily  from  mining  sparks;  while  at  the 
same  time  a  vast  amount  of  real  work  is  being 
done,  and  the  ratio  between  growth  and  de 
cay  is  constantly  becoming  better. 


XVII 

PUGET  SOUND 

WASHINGTON  TERRITORY,  recently  admitted * 
into  the  Union  as  a  State,  lies  between  latitude 
46°  and  49°  and  longitude  117°  and  125°,  form 
ing  the  northwest  shoulder  of  the  United 
States.  The  majestic  range  of  the  Cascade 
Mountains  naturally  divides  the  State  into 
two  distinct  parts,  called  Eastern  and  West 
ern  Washington,  differing  greatly  from  each 
other  in  almost  every  way,  the  western  sec 
tion  being  less  than  half  as  large  as  the  eastern, 
and,  with  its  copious  rains  and  deep  fertile  soil, 
being  clothed  with  forests  of  evergreens,  while 
the  eastern  section  is  dry  and  mostly  treeless, 
though  fertile  in  many  parts,  and  producing 
immense  quantities  of  wheat  and  hay.  Few 
States  are  more  fertile  and  productive  in  one 
way  or  another  than  Washington,  or  more 
strikingly  varied  in  natural  features  or  re 
sources. 

Within  her  borders  every  kind  of  soil  and  cli 
mate  may  be  found  —  the  densest  woods  and 
dryest  plains,  the  smoothest  levels  and  roughest 

1  November  11,  1889;  Muir's  description  probably  was 
written  toward  the  end  of  the  same  year.  [Editor.] 

204 


PUGET  SOUND 

mountains.  She  is  rich  in  square  miles  (some 
seventy  thousand  of  them) ,  in  coal,  timber,  and 
iron,  and  in  sheltered  inland  waters  that  ren 
der  these  resources  advantageously  accessible. 
She  also  is  already  rich  in  busy  workers,  who 
work  hard,  though  not  always  wisely,  hack 
ing,  burning,  blasting  their  way  deeper  into 
the  wilderness,  beneath  the  sky,  and  beneath 
the  ground.  The  wedges  of  development  are 
being  driven  hard,  and  none  of  the  obstacles 
or  defenses  of  nature  can  long  withstand  the 
onset  of  this  immeasurable  industry. 

Puget  Sound,  so  justly  famous  the  world 
over  for  the  surpassing  size  and  excellence  and 
abundance  of  its  timber,  is  a  long,  many- 
fingered  arm  of  the  sea  reaching  southward 
from  the  head  of  the  Strait  of  Juan  de  Fuca 
into  the  heart  of  the  grand  forests  of  the  west 
ern  portion  of  Washington,  between  the  Cas 
cade  Range  and  the  mountains  of  the  coast. 
It  is  less  than  a  hundred  miles  in  length,  but  so 
numerous  are  the  branches  into  which  it  divides, 
and  so  many  its  bays,  harbors,  and  islands,  that 
its  entire  shore-line  is  said  to  measure  more 
than  eighteen  hundred  miles.  Throughout  its 
whole  vast  extent  ships  move  in  safety,  and 
find  shelter  from  every  wind  that  blows,  the 
entire  mountain-girt  sea  forming  one  grand 
unrivaled  harbor  and  center  for  commerce. 

205 


STEEP  TRAILS 

The  forest  trees  press  forward  to  the  water 
around  all  the  windings  of  the  shores  in  most 
imposing  array,  as  if  they  were  courting  their 
fate,  coming  down  from  the  mountains  far 
and  near  to  offer  themselves  to  the  axe,  thus 
making  the  place  a  perfect  paradise  for  the 
lumberman.  To  the  lover  of  nature  the  scene 
is  enchanting.  Water  and  sky,  mountain  and 
forest,  clad  in  sunshine  and  clouds,  are  com 
posed  in  landscapes  sublime  in  magnitude,  yet 
exquisitely  fine  and  fresh,  and  full  of  glad, 
rejoicing  life.  The  shining  waters  stretch  away 
into  the  leafy  wilderness,  now  like  the  reaches 
of  some  majestic  river  and  again  expanding 
into  broad  roomy  spaces  like  mountain  lakes, 
their  farther  edges  fading  gradually  and  blend 
ing  with  the  pale  blue  of  the  sky.  The  wooded 
shores  with  an  outer  fringe  of  flowering  bushes 
sweep  onward  in  beautiful  curves  around  bays, 
and  capes,  and  jutting  promontories  innumer 
able;  while  the  islands,  with  soft,  waving  out 
lines,  lavishly  adorned  with  spruces  and  cedars, 
thicken  and  enrich  the  beauty  of  the  waters; 
and  the  white  spirit  mountains  looking  down 
from  the  sky  keep  watch  and  ward  over  all, 
faithful  and  changeless  as  the  stars. 

All  the  way  from  the  Strait  of  Juan  de  Fuca 
up  to  Olympia,  a  hopeful  town  situated  at  the 
head  of  one  of  the  farthest- reaching  of  the 

206 


PUGET  SOUND 

fingers  of  the  Sound,  we  are  so  completely  in 
land  and  surrounded  by  mountains  that  it  is 
hard  to  realize  that  we  are  sailing  on  a  branch 
of  the  salt  sea.  We  are  constantly  reminded 
of  Lake  Tahoe.  There  is  the  same  clearness 
of  the  water  in  calm  weather  without  any 
trace  of  the  ocean  swell,  the  same  picturesque 
winding  and  sculpture  of  the  shore-line  and 
flowery,  leafy  luxuriance;  only  here  the  trees 
are  taller  and  stand  much  closer  together,  and 
the  backgrounds  are  higher  and  far  more 
extensive.  Here,  too,  we  find  greater  variety 
amid  the  marvelous  wealth  of  islands  and 
inlets,  and  also  in  the  changing  views  de 
pendent  on  the  weather.  As  we  double  cape 
after  cape  and  round  the  uncounted  islands, 
new  combinations  come  to  view  in  endless 
variety,  sufficient  to  fill  and  satisfy  the  lover 
of  wild  beauty  through  a  whole  life. 

Oftentimes  in  the  stillest  weather,  when  all 
the  winds  sleep  and  no  sign  of  storms  is  felt 
or  seen,  silky  clouds  form  and  settle  over  all 
the  land,  leaving  in  sight  only  a  circle  of  water 
with  indefinite  bounds  like  views  in  mid-ocean; 
then,  the  clouds  lifting,  some  islet  will  be  pre 
sented  standing  alone,  with  the  tops  of  its 
trees  dipping  out  of  sight  in  pearly  gray 
fringes;  or,  lifting  higher,  and  perhaps  letting 
in  a  ray  of  sunshine  through  some  rift  over- 
207 


STEEP  TRAILS 

head,  the  whole  island  will  be  set  free  and 
brought  forward  in  vivid  relief  amid  the  gloom, 
a  girdle  of  silver  light  of  dazzling  brightness 
on  the  water  about  its  shores,  then  darkening 
again  and  vanishing  back  into  the  general 
gloom.  Thus  island  after  island  may  be  seen, 
singly  or  in  groups,  coming  and  going  from 
darkness  to  light  like  a  scene  of  enchantment, 
until  at  length  the  entire  cloud  ceiling  is  rolled 
away,  and  the  colossal  cone  of  Mount  Rainier 
is  seen  in  spotless  white  looking  down  over  the 
forests  from  a  distance  of  sixty  miles,  but  so 
lofty  and  so  massive  and  clearly  outlined  as 
to  impress  itself  upon  us  as  being  just  back  of 
a  strip  of  woods  only  a  mile  or  two  in  breadth. 
For  the  tourist  sailing  to  Puget  Sound  from 
San  Francisco  there  is  but  little  that  is  at  all 
striking  in  the  scenery  within  reach  by  the 
way  until  the  mouth  of  the  Strait  of  Juan  de 
Fuca  is  reached.  The  voyage  is  about  four 
days  in  length  and  the  steamers  keep  within 
sight  of  the  coast,  but  the  hills  fronting  the 
sea  up  to  Oregon  are  mostly  bare  and  uninvit 
ing,  the  magnificent  redwood  forests  stretch 
ing  along  this  portion  of  the  California  coast 
seeming  to  keep  well  back,  away  from  the 
heavy  winds,  so  that  very  little  is  seen  of  them; 
while  there  are  no  deep  inlets  or  lofty  moun 
tains  visible  to  break  the  regular  monotony. 

208 


PUGET  SOUND 

Along  the  coast  of  Oregon  the  woods  of  spruce 
and  fir  come  down  to  the  shore,  kept  fresh  and 
vigorous  by  copious  rains,  and  become  denser 
and  taller  to  the  northward  until,  rounding 
Cape  Flattery,  we  enter  the  Strait  of  Fuca, 
where,  sheltered  from  the  ocean  gales,  the  for 
ests  begin  to  hint  the  grandeur  they  attain  in 
Puget  Sound.  Here  the  scenery  in  general 
becomes  exceedingly  interesting;  for  now  we 
have  arrived  at  the  grand  mountain-walled 
channel  that  forms  the  entrance  to  that  mar 
velous  network  of  inland  waters  that  extends 
along  the  margin  of  the  continent  to  the  north 
ward  for  a  thousand  miles. 

This  magnificent  inlet  was  named  for  Juan 
de  Fuca,  who  discovered  it  in  1592  while  seek 
ing  a  mythical  strait,  supposed  to  exist  some 
where  in  the  north,  connecting  the  Atlantic 
and  Pacific.  It  is  about  seventy  miles  long, 
ten  or  twelve  miles  wide,  and  extends  to  the 
eastward  in  a  nearly  straight  line  between 
the  south  end  of  Vancouver  Island  and  the 
Olympic  Range  of  mountains  on  the  main 
land. 

Cape  Flattery,  the  western  termination  of 
the  Olympic  Range,  is  terribly  rugged  and 
jagged,  and  in  stormy  weather  is  utterly  in 
accessible  from  the  sea.  Then  the  ponderous 
rollers  of  the  deep  Pacific  thunder  amid  its 

209 


STEEP  TRAILS 

caverns  and  cliffs  with  the  foam  and  uproar 
of  a  thousand  Yosemite  waterfalls.  The  bones 
of  many  a  noble  ship  lie  there,  and  many  a 
sailor.  It  would  seem  unlikely  that  any  living 
thing  should  seek  rest  in  such  a  place,  or  find 
it.  Nevertheless,  frail  and  delicate  flowers 
bloom  there,  flowers  of  both  the  land  and  the 
sea;  heavy,  ungainly  seals  disport  in  the  swell 
ing  waves,  and  find  grateful  retreats  back  in 
the  inmost  bores  of  its  storm-lashed  caverns; 
while  in  many  a  chink  and  hollow  of  the  high 
est  crags,  not  visible  from  beneath,  a  great 
variety  of  water-fowl  make  homes  and  rear 
their  young. 

But  not  always  are  the  inhabitants  safe, 
even  in  such  wave-defended  castles  as  these, 
for  the  Indians  of  the  neighboring  shores  ven 
ture  forth  in  the  calmest  summer  weather  in 
their  frail  canoes  to  spear  the  seals  in  the  nar 
row  gorges  amid  the  grinding,  gurgling  din  of 
the  restless  waters.  At  such  times  also  the 
hunters  make  out  to  scale  many  of  the  appar 
ently  inaccessible  cliffs  for  the  eggs  and  young 
of  the  gulls  and  other  water-birds,  occasionally 
losing  their  lives  in  these  perilous  adventures, 
which  give  rise  to  many  an  exciting  story  told 
around  the  camp-fires  at  night  when  the  storms 
roar  loudest. 

Passing  through  the  strait,  we  have  the 

210 


PUGET  SOUND 

Olympic  Mountains  close  at  hand  on  the  right, 
Vancouver  Island  on  the  left,  and  the  snowy 
peak  of  Mount  Baker  straight  ahead  in  the 
distance.  During  calm  weather,  or  when  the 
clouds  are  lifting  and  rolling  off  the  mountains 
after  a  storm,  all  these  views  are  truly  magni 
ficent.  Mount  Baker  is  one  of  that  wonderful 
series  of  old  volcanoes  that  once  flamed  along 
the  summits  of  the  Sierras  and  Cascades  from 
Lassen  to  Mount  St.  Elias.  Its  fires  are  sleep 
ing  now,  and  it  is  loaded  with  glaciers,  streams 
of  ice  having  taken  the  place  of  streams  of 
glowing  lava.  Vancouver  Island  presents  a 
charming  variety  of  hill  and  dale,  open  sunny 
spaces  and  sweeps  of  dark  forest  rising  in  swell 
beyond  swell  to  the  high  land  in  the  distance. 
But  the  Olympic  Mountains  most  of  all 
command  attention,  seen  tellingly  near  and 
clear  in  all  their  glory,  rising  from  the  water's 
edge  into  the  sky  to  a  height  of  six  or  eight 
thousand  feet.  They  bound  the  strait  on  the 
south  side  throughout  its  whole  extent,  form 
ing  a  massive  sustained  wall,  flowery  and 
bushy  at  the  base,  a  zigzag  of  snowy  peaks 
along  the  top,  which  have  ragged-edged  fields 
of  ice  and  snow  beneath  them,  enclosed  in 
wide  amphitheaters  opening  to  the  waters  of 
the  strait  through  spacious  forest-filled  valleys 
enlivened  with  fine,  dashing  streams.  These 
211 


STEEP  TRAILS 

valleys  mark  the  courses  of  the  Olympic  gla 
ciers  at  the  period  of  their  greatest  extension, 
when  they  poured  their  tribute  into  that  por 
tion  of  the  great  northern  ice-sheet  that  over- 
swept  the  south  end  of  Vancouver  Island  and 
filled  the  strait  with  flowing  ice  as  it  is  now 
filled  with  ocean  water. 

The  steamers  of  the  Sound  usually  stop  at 
Esquimalt  on  their  way  up,  thus  affording 
tourists  an  opportunity  to  visit  the  interesting 
town  of  Victoria,  the  capital  of  British  Colum 
bia.  The  Victoria  harbor  is  too  narrow  and 
difficult  of  access  for  the  larger  class  of  ships; 
therefore  a  landing  has  to  be  made  at  Esqui 
malt.  The  distance,  however,  is  only  about 
three  miles,  and  the  way  is  delightful,  wind 
ing  on  through  a  charming  forest  of  Douglas 
spruce,  with  here  and  there  groves  of  oak  and 
madrone,  and  a  rich  undergrowth  of  hazel,  dog 
wood,  willow,  alder,  spiraea,  rubus,  huckle 
berry,  and  wild  rose^  Pretty  cottages  occur  at 
intervals  along  the  road,  covered  with  honey 
suckle,  and  many  an  upswelling  rock,  freshly 
glaciated  and  furred  with  yellow  mosses  and 
lichen,  telling  interesting  stories  of  the  icy  past. 

Victoria  is  a  quiet,  handsome,  breezy  town, 
beautifully  located  on  finely  modulated  ground 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Canal  de  Haro,  with  charm 
ing  views  in  front,  of  islands  and  mountains 

212 


PUGET  SOUND 

and  far-reaching  waters,  ever  changing  in  the 
shifting  lights  and  shades  of  the  clouds  and 
sunshine.  In  the  background  there  are  a  mile 
or  two  of  field  and  forest  and  sunny  oak  open 
ings;  then  comes  the  forest  primeval,  dense 
and  shaggy  and  well-nigh  impenetrable. 

Notwithstanding  the  importance  claimed 
for  Victoria  as  a  commercial  center  and  the 
capital  of  British  Columbia,  it  has  a  rather 
young,  loose-jointed  appearance.  The  gov 
ernment  buildings  and  some  of  the  business 
blocks  on  the  main  streets  are  well  built  and 
imposing  in  bulk  and  architecture.  These  are 
far  less  interesting  and  characteristic,  however, 
than  the  mansions  set  in  the  midst  of  spacious 
pleasure-grounds  and  the  lovely  home  cot 
tages  embowered  in  honeysuckle  and  climb 
ing  roses.  One  soon  discovers  that  this  is  no 
Yankee  town.  The  English  faces  and  the  way 
that  English  is  spoken  alone  would  tell  that; 
while  in  business  quarters  there  is  a  staid  dig 
nity  and  moderation  that  is  very  noticeable, 
and  a  want  of  American  push  and  hurrah. 
Love  of  land  and  of  privacy  in  homes  is  made 
manifest  in  the  residences,  many  of  which 
are  built  in  the  middle  of  fields  and  orchards 
or  large  city  blocks,  and  in  the  loving  care 
with  which  these  home-grounds  are  planted. 
They  are  very  beautiful.  The  fineness  of  the 

213 


STEEP  TRAILS 

climate,  with  its  copious  measure  of  warm 
moisture  distilling  in  dew  and  fog,  and  gentle, 
bathing,  laving  rain,  give  them  a  freshness 
and  floweriness  that  is  worth  going  far  to  see. 

Victoria  is  noted  for  its  fine  drives,  and 
every  one  who  can  should  either  walk  or  drive 
around  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  not  only 
for  the  fine  views  out  over  the  water  but  to 
see  the  cascades  of  bloom  pouring  over  the 
gables  of  the  cottages,  and  the  fresh  wild  woods 
with  their  flowery,  fragrant  underbrush.  Wild 
roses  abound  almost  everywhere.  One  species, 
blooming  freely  along  the  woodland  paths,  is 
from  two  to  three  inches  in  diameter,  and  more 
fragrant  than  any  other  wild  rose  I  ever  saw 
excepting  the  sweetbriar.  This  rose  and  three 
species  of  spiraea  fairly  fill  the  air  with  fra 
grance  after  a  shower.  And  how  brightly  then 
do  the  red  berries  of  the  dogwood  shine  out 
from  the  warm  yellow-green  of  leaves  and 
mosses ! 

But  still  more  interesting  and  significant 
are  the  glacial  phenomena  displayed  here 
abouts.  All  this  exuberant  tree,  bush,  and 
herbaceous  vegetation,  cultivated  or  wild,  is 
growing  upon  moraine  beds  outspread  by 
waters  that  issued  from  the  ancient  glaciers 
at  the  time  of  their  recession,  and  scarcely  at 
all  moved  or  in  any  way  modified  by  post- 
214 


PUGET  SOUND 

glacial  agencies.  The  town  streets  and  the 
roads  are  graded  in  moraine  material,  among 
scratched  and  grooved  rock-bosses  that  are 
as  unweathered  and  telling  as  any  to  be  found 
in  the  glacier-channels  of  Alaska.  The  harbor 
also  is  clearly  of  glacial  origin.  The  rock  islets 
that  rise  here  and  there,  forming  so  marked  a 
feature  of  the  harbor,  are  unchanged  roches 
moutonnees,  and  the  shores  are  grooved, 
scratched,  and  rounded,  and  in  every  way  as 
glacial  in  all  their  characteristics  as  those  of  a 
newborn  glacial  lake. 

Most  visitors  to  Victoria  go  to  the  stores  of 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  presumably  on 
account  of  the  romantic  associations,  or  to 
purchase  a  bit  of  fur  or  some  other  wild-In- 
dianish  trinket  as  a  memento.  At  certain  sea 
sons  of  the  year,  when  the  hairy  harvests  are 
gathered  in,  immense  bales  of  skins  may  be 
seen  in  these  unsavory  warehouses,  the  spoils 
of  many  thousand  hunts  over  mountain  and 
plain,  by  lonely  river  and  shore.  The  skins 
of  bears,  wolves,  beavers,  otters,  fishers,  mar 
tens,  lynxes,  panthers,  wolverine,  reindeer, 
moose,  elk,  wild  goats,  sheep,  foxes,  squirrels, 
and  many  others  of  our  "poor  earth-born 
companions  and  fellow-mortals"  may  here  be 
found. 

Vancouver  is  the  southmost  and  the  largest 

215 


STEEP  TRAILS 

of  the  countless  islands  forming  the  great  ar 
chipelago  that  stretches  a  thousand  miles  to 
the  northward.  Its  shores  have  been  known  a 
long  time,  but  little  is  known  of  the  lofty  moun 
tainous  interior  on  account  of  the  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  explorations  —  lake,  bogs,  and 
shaggy  tangled  forests.  It  is  mostly  a  pure, 
savage  wilderness,  without  roads  or  clearings, 
and  silent  so  far  as  man  is  concerned.  Even 
the  Indians  keep  close  to  the  shore,  getting  a 
living  by  fishing,  dwelling  together  in  villages, 
and  traveling  almost  wholly  by  canoes.  White 
settlements  are  few  and  far  between.  Good 
agricultural  lands  occur  here  and  there  on  the 
edge  of  the  wilderness,  but  they  are  hard  to 
clear,  and  have  received  but  little  attention 
thus  far.  Gold,  the  grand  attraction  that  lights 
the  way  into  all  kinds  of  wildernesses  and 
makes  rough  places  smooth,  has  been  found, 
but  only  in  small  quantities,  too  small  to  make 
much  motion.  Almost  all  the  industry  of  the 
island  is  employed  upon  lumber  and  coal,  in 
which,  so  far  as  known,  its  chief  wealth  lies. 

Leaving  Victoria  for  Port  Townsend,  after 
we  are  fairly  out  on  the  free  open  water,  Mount 
Baker  is  seen  rising  solitary  over  a  dark 
breadth  of  forest,  making  a  glorious  show  in 
its  pure  white  raiment.  It  is  said  to  be  about 
eleven  thousand  feet  high,  is  loaded  with  gla- 

X216 


PUGET  SOUND 

ciers,  some  of  which  come  well  down  into  the 
woods,  and  never,  so  far  as  I  have  heard,  has 
been  climbed,  though  in  all  probability  it  is 
not  inaccessible.  The  task  of  reaching  its  base 
through  the  dense  woods  will  be  likely  to  prove 
of  greater  difficulty  than  the  climb  to  the 
summit. 

In  a  direction  a  little  to  the  left  of  Mount 
Baker  and  much  nearer,  may  be  seen  the  island 
of  San  Juan,  famous  in  the  young  history  of 
the  country  for  the  quarrels  concerning  its 
rightful  ownership  between  the  Hudson 's  Bay 
Company  and  Washington  Territory,  quar 
rels  which  nearly  brought  on  war  with  Great 
Britain.  Neither  party  showed  any  lack  of 
either  pluck  or  gunpowder.  General  Scott  was 
sent  out  by  President  Buchanan  to  negotiate, 
which  resulted  in  a  joint  occupancy  of  the 
island.  Small  quarrels,  however,  continued 
to  arise  until  the  year  1874,  when  the  peppery 
question  was  submitted  to  the  Emperor  of 
Germany  for  arbitration.  Then  the  whole 
island  was  given  to  the  United  States. 

San  Juan  is  one  of  a  thickset  cluster  of  is 
lands  that  fills  the  waters  between  Vancouver 
and  the  mainland,  a  little  to  the  north  of  Vic 
toria.  In  some  of  the  intricate  channels  be 
tween  these  islands  the  tides  run  at  times  like 
impetuous  rushing  rivers,  rendering  naviga- 

217 


STEEP  TRAILS 

tion  rather  uncertain  and  dangerous  for  the 
small  sailing-vessels  that  ply  between  Victoria 
and  the  settlements  on  the  coast  of  British 
Columbia  and  the  larger  islands.  The  water  is 
generally  deep  enough  everywhere,  too  deep 
in  most  places  for  anchorage,  and,  the  winds 
shifting  hither  and  thither  or  dying  away  al 
together,  the  ships,  getting  no  direction  from 
their  helms,  are  carried  back  and  forth  or  are 
caught  in  some  eddy  where  two  currents  meet 
and  whirled  round  and  round  to  the  dismay 
of  the  sailors,  like  a  chip  in  a  river  whirlpool. 

All  the  way  over  to  Port  Townsend  the 
Olympic  Mountains  well  maintain  their  mas 
sive,  imposing  grandeur,  and  present  their 
elaborately  carved  summits  in  clear  relief, 
many  of  which  are  out  of  sight  in  coming  up 
the  strait  on  account  of  our  being  too  near 
the  base  of  the  range.  Turn  to  them  as  often 
as  we  may,  our  admiration  only  grows  the 
warmer  the  longer  we  dwell  upon  them.  The 
highest  peaks  are  Mount  Constance  and  Mount 
Olympus,  said  to  be  about  eight  thousand  feet 
high. 

In  two  or  three  hours  after  leaving  Vic 
toria,  we  arrive  at  the  handsome  little  town 
of  Port  Townsend,  situated  at  the  mouth  of 
Puget  Sound,  on  the  west  side.  The  residen 
tial  portion  of  the  town  is  set  on  the  level  top 

218 


PUGET  SOUND 

of  the  bluff  that  bounds  Port  Townsend  Bay, 
while  another  nearly  level  space  of  moderate 
extent,  reaching  from  the  base  of  the  bluff  to 
the  shore-line,  is  occupied  by  the  business 
portion,  thus  making  a  town  of  two  separate 
and  distinct  stories,  which  are  connected  by 
long,  ladder-like  flights  of  stairs.  In  the  streets 
of  the  lower  story,  while  there  is  no  lack  of 
animation,  there  is  but  little  business  noise  as 
compared  with  the  amount  of  business  trans 
acted.  This  in  great  part  is  due  to  the  scarcity 
of  horses  and  wagons.  Farms  and  roads  back 
in  the  woods  are  few  and  far  between.  Nearly 
all  the  tributary  settlements  are  on  the  coast, 
and  communication  is  almost  wholly  by  boats, 
canoes,  and  schooners.  Hence  country  stages 
and  farmers'  wagons  and  buggies,  with  the 
whir  and  din  that  belong  to  them,  are  wanting. 
This  being  the  port  of  entry,  all  vessels  have 
to  stop  here,  and  they  make  a  lively  show  about 
the  wharves  and  in  the  bay.  The  winds  stir 
the  flags  of  every  civilized  nation,  while  the 
Indians  in  their  long-beaked  canoes  glide 
about  from  ship  to  ship,  satisfying  their  curi 
osity  or  trading  with  the  crews.  Keen  traders 
these  Indians  are,  and  few  indeed  of  the  sail 
ors  or  merchants  from  any  country  ever  get 
the  better  of  them  in  bargains.  Curious  groups 
of  people  may  often  be  seen  in  the  streets  and 

219 


STEEP  TRAILS 

stores,  made  up  of  English,  French,  Spanish, 
Portuguese,  Scandinavians,  Germans,  Greeks, 
Moors,  Japanese,  and  Chinese,  of  every  rank 
and  station  and  style  of  dress  and  behavior; 
settlers  from  many  a  nook  and  bay  and  island 
up  and  down  the  coast;  hunters  from  the  wil 
derness;  tourists  on  their  way  home  by  the 
Sound  and  the  Columbia  River  or  to  Alaska 
or  California. 

The  upper  story  of  Port  Townsend  is  charm 
ingly  located,  wide  bright  waters  on  one  side, 
flowing  evergreen  woods  on  the  other.  The 
streets  are  well  laid  out  and  well  tended,  and 
the  houses,  with  their  luxuriant  gardens  about 
them,  have  an  air  of  taste  and  refinement  sel 
dom  found  in  towns  set  on  the  edge  of  a  wild 
forest.  The  people  seem  to  have  come  here  to 
make  true  homes,  attracted  by  the  beauty  and 
fresh  breezy  healthfulness  of  the  place  as  well 
as  by  business  advantages,  trusting  to  nat 
ural  growth  and  advancement  instead  of  rest 
less  "  booming  "  methods.  They  perhaps  have 
caught  some  of  the  spirit  of  calm  moderation 
and  enjoyment  from  their  English  neighbors 
across  the  water.  Of  late,  however,  this  sober 
tranquillity  has  begun  to  give  way,  some  whiffs 
from  the  whirlwind  of  real-estate  speculation 
up  the  Sound  having  at  length  touched  the 
town  and  ruffled  the  surface  of  its  calmness. 
220 


PUGET  SOUND 

A  few  miles  up  the  bay  is  Fort  Townsend, 
which  makes  a  pretty  picture  with  the  green 
woods  rising  back  of  it  and  the  calm  water  in 
front.  Across  the  mouth  of  the  Sound  lies  the 
long,  narrow  Whidbey  Island,  named  by  Van 
couver  for  one  of  his  lieutenants.  It  is  about 
thirty  miles  in  length,  and  is  remarkable  in 
this  region  of  crowded  forests  and  mountains 
as  being  comparatively  open  and  low.  The 
soil  is  good  and  easily  worked,  and  a  consid 
erable  portion  of  the  island  has  been  under 
cultivation  for  many  years.  Fertile  fields, 
open,  parklike  groves  of  oak,  and  thick  masses 
of  evergreens  succeed  one  another  in  charming 
combinations  to  make  this  "the  garden  spot 
of  the  Territory." 

Leaving  Port  Townsend  for  Seattle  and 
Tacoma,  we  enter  the  Sound  and  sail  down 
into  the  heart  of  the  green,  aspiring  forests, 
and  find,  look  where  we  may,  beauty  ever 
changing,  in  lavish  profusion.  Puget  Sound, 
"the  Mediterranean  of  America"  as  it  is  some 
times  called,  is  in  many  respects  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  bodies  of  water  in  the  world. 
Vancouver,  who  came  here  nearly  a  hundred 
years  ago  and  made  a  careful  survey  of  it, 
named  the  larger  northern  portion  of  it  "Ad 
miralty  Inlet"  and  one  of  the  long,  narrow 
branches  "Hood's  Canal,"  applying  the  name 
221 


STEEP  TRAILS 

"Puget  Sound"  only  to  the  comparatively 
small  southern  portion.  The  latter  name, 
however,  is  now  applied  generally  to  the  en 
tire  inlet,  and  is  commonly  shortened  by  the 
people  hereabouts  to  "The  Sound."  The  nat 
ural  wealth  and  commercial  advantages  of  the 
Sound  region  were  quickly  recognized,  and 
the  cause  of  the  activity  prevailing  here  is  not 
far  to  seek.  Vancouver,  long  before  civiliza 
tion  touched  these  shores,  spoke  of  it  in  terms 
of  unstinted  praise.  He  was  sent  out  by  the 
British  government  with  the  principal  object 
in  view  of  "acquiring  accurate  knowledge  as 
to  the  nature  and  extent  of  any  water  com 
munication  which  may  tend  in  any  consider 
able  degree  to  facilitate  an  intercourse  for  the 
purposes  of  commerce  between  the  northwest 
coast  and  the  country  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  continent,"  vague  traditions  having  long 
been  current  concerning  a  strait  supposed  to 
unite  the  two  oceans.  Vancouver  reported 
that  he  found  the  coast  from  San  Francisco 
to  Oregon  and  beyond  to  present  a  nearly 
straight  solid  barrier  to  the  sea,  without  open 
ings,  and  we  may  well  guess  the  joy  of  the  old 
navigator  on  the  discovery  of  these  waters 
after  so  long  and  barren  a  search  to  the  south 
ward. 

His  descriptions  of  the  scenery  —  Mounts 
222 


PUGET  SOUND 

Baker,  Rainier,  St.  Helen's,  etc.  —  were  as 
enthusiastic  as  those  of  the  most  eager  land 
scape-lover  of  the  present  day,  when  scenery 
is  in  fashion.  He  says  in  one  place:  "To  de 
scribe  the  beauties  of  this  region  will,  on  some 
future  occasion,  be  a  very  grateful  task  for  the 
pen  of  a  skillful  panegyrist.  The  serenity  of 
the  climate,  the  immeasurable  pleasing  land 
scapes,  and  the  abundant  fertility  that  un 
assisted  nature  puts  forth,  require  only  to  be 
enriched  by  the  industry  of  man  with  villages, 
mansions,  cottages,  and  other  buildings,  to 
render  it  the  most  lovely  country  that  can  be 
imagined.  The  labor  of  the  inhabitants  would 
be  amply  rewarded  in  the  bounties  which  na 
ture  seems  ready  to  bestow  on  cultivation." 
"A  picture  so  pleasing  could  not  fail  to  call 
to  our  remembrance  certain  delightful  and 
beloved  situations  in  old  England."  So  warm, 
indeed,  were  the  praises  he  sung  that  his  state 
ments  were  received  in  England  with  a  good 
deal  of  hesitation.  But  they  were  amply  cor 
roborated  by  Wilkes  and  others  who  followed 
many  years  later.  "Nothing,"  says  Wilkes, 
"can  exceed  the  beauty  of  these  waters  and 
their  safety.  Not  a  shoal  exists  in  the  Straits 
of  Juan  de  Fuca,  Admiralty  Inlet,  Puget 
Sound  or  Hood's  Canal,  that  can  in  any  way 
interrupt  their  navigation  by  a  74-gun  ship. 

223 


STEEP  TRAILS 

I  venture  nothing  in  saying  there  is  no  coun 
try  in  the  world  that  possesses  waters  like 
these."  And  again,  quoting  from  the  United 
States  Coast  Survey,  "For  depth  of  water, 
boldness  of  approaches,  freedom  from  hidden 
dangers,  and  the  immeasurable  sea  of  gigan 
tic  timber  coming  down  to  the  very  shores, 
these  waters  are  unsurpassed,  unapproach 
able." 

The  Sound  region  has  a  fine,  fresh,  clean 
climate,  well  washed  both  winter  and  summer 
with  copious  rains  and  swept  with  winds  and 
clouds  that  come  from  the  mountains  and  the 
sea.  Every  hidden  nook  in  the  depths  of  the 
woods  is  searched  and  refreshed,  leaving  no 
stagnant  air;  beaver  meadows  and  lake-basins 
and  low  and  willowy  bogs,  all  are  kept  whole 
some  and  sweet  the  year  round.  Cloud  and 
sunshine  alternate  in  bracing,  cheering  suc 
cession,  and  health  and  abundance  follow  the 
storms.  The  outer  sea-margin  is  sublimely 
dashed  and  drenched  with  ocean  brine,  the 
spicy  scud  sweeping  at  times  far  inland  over 
the  bending  woods,  the  giant  trees  waving 
and  chanting  in  hearty  accord  as  if  surely 
enjoying  it  all. 

Heavy,  long-continued  rains  occur  in  the 
winter  months.  Then  every  leaf,  bathed  and 
brightened,  rejoices.  Filtering  drops  and  cur- 

224 


PUGET  SOUND 

rents  through  all  the  shaggy  undergrowth  of  the 
woods  go  with  tribute  to  the  small  streams,  and 
these  again  to  the  larger.  The  rivers  swell,  but 
there  are  no  devastating  floods;  for  the  thick 
felt  of  roots  and  mosses  holds  the  abounding 
waters  in  check,  stored  in  a  thousand  thous 
and  fountains.  Neither  are  there  any  violent 
hurricanes  here.  At  least,  I  never  have  heard 
of  any,  nor  have  I  come  upon  their  tracks. 
Most  of  the  streams  are  clear  and  cool  always, 
for  their  waters  are  filtered  through  deep  beds 
of  mosses,  and  flow  beneath  shadows  all  the 
way  to  the  sea.  Only  the  streams  from  the 
glaciers  are  turbid  and  muddy.  On  the  slopes 
of  the  mountains  where  they  rush  from  their 
crystal  caves,  they  carry  not  only  small  par 
ticles  of  rock-mud,  worn  off  the  sides  and  bot 
toms  of  the  channels  of  the  glaciers,  but  grains 
of  sand  and  pebbles  and  large  boulders  tons 
in  weight,  rolling  them  forward  on  their  way 
rumbling  and  bumping  to  their  appointed 
places  at  the  foot  of  steep  slopes,  to  be  built 
into  rough  bars  and  beds,  while  the  smaller 
material  is  carried  farther  and  outspread  in 
flats,  perhaps  for  coming  wheat-fields  and  gar 
dens,  the  finest  of  it  going  out  to  sea,  floating 
on  the  tides  for  weeks  and  months  ere  it  finds 
rest  on  the  bottom. 

Snow  seldom  falls  to  any  great  depth  on  the 

225 


STEEP  TRAILS 

lowlands,  though  it  comes  in  glorious  abun 
dance  on  the  mountains.  And  only  on  the 
mountains  does  the  temperature  fall  much 
below  the  freezing-point.  In  the  warmest  sum 
mer  weather  a  temperature  of  eighty-five  de 
grees  or  even  more  occasionally  is  reached,  but 
not  for  long  at  a  tune,  as  such  heat  is  speed 
ily  followed  by  a  breeze  from  the  sea.  The 
most  charming  days  here  are  days  of  perfect 
calm,  when  all  the  winds  are  holding  their 
breath  and  not  a  leaf  stirs.  Then  the  surface 
of  the  Sound  shines  like  a  silver  mirror  over 
all  its  vast  extent,  reflecting  its  lovely  islands 
and  shores;  and  long  sheets  of  spangles  flash 
and  dance  in  the  wake  of  every  swimming 
seabird  and  boat.  The  sun,  looking  down  on 
the  tranquil  landscape,  seems  conscious  of  the 
presence  of  every  living  thing  on  which  he  is 
pouring  his  blessings,  while  they  in  turn,  with 
perhaps  the  exception  of  man,  seem  conscious 
of  the  presence  of  the  sun  as  a  benevolent 
father  and  stand  hushed  and  waiting. 


XVIII 

THE  FORESTS  OF  WASHINGTON 

WHEN  we  force  our  way  into  the  depths  of 
the  forests,  following  any  of  the  rivers  back 
to  their  fountains,  we  find  that  the  bulk  of  the 
woods  is  made  up  of  the  Douglas  spruce  (Pseu- 
dotsuga  Douglasii),  named  in  honor  of  David 
Douglas,  an  enthusiastic  botanical  explorer 
of  early  Hudson 's  Bay  times.  It  is  not  only  a 
very  large  tree  but  a  very  beautiful  one,  with 
lively  bright-green  drooping  foliage,  handsome 
pendent  cones,  and  a  shaft  exquisitely  straight 
and  regular.  For  so  large  a  tree  it  is  astonish 
ing  how  many  find  nourishment  and  space  to 
grow  on  any  given  area.  The  magnificent 
shafts  push  their  spires  into  the  sky  close  to 
gether  with  as  regular  a  growth  as  that  of  a 
well-tilled  field  of  grain.  And  no  ground  has 
been  better  tilled  for  the  growth  of  trees  than 
that  on  which  these  forests  are  growing.  For 
it  has  been  thoroughly  ploughed  and  rolled 
by  the  mighty  glaciers  from  the  mountains, 
and  sifted  and  mellowed  and  outspread  in 
beds  hundreds  of  feet  in  depth  by  the  broad 
streams  that  issued  from  their  fronts  at  the 
time  of  their  recession,  after  they  had  long 
covered  all  the  land. 

227 


STEEP  TRAILS 

The  largest  tree  of  this  species  that  I  have 
myself  measured  was  nearly  twelve  feet  in 
diameter  at  a  height  of  five  feet  from  the 
ground,  and,  as  near  as  I  could  make  out  under 
the  circumstances,  about  three  hundred  feet 
in  length.  It  stood  near  the  head  of  the  Sound 
not  far  from  Olympia.  I  have  seen  a  few  others, 
both  near  the  coast  and  thirty  or  forty  miles 
back  in  the  interior,  that  were  from  eight  to 
ten  feet  in  diameter,  measured  above  their 
bulging  insteps;  and  many  from  six  to  seven 
feet.  I  have  heard  of  some  that  were  said  to 
be  three  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  in  height 
and  fifteen  feet  in  diameter,  but  none  that  I 
measured  were  so  large,  though  it  is  not  at 
all  unlikely  that  such  colossal  giants  do  exist 
where  conditions  of  soil  and  exposure  are  sur 
passingly  favorable.  The  average  size  of  all 
the  trees  of  this  species  found  up  to  an  eleva 
tion  on  the  mountain-slopes  of,  say,  two  thou 
sand  feet  above  sea-level,  taking  into  account 
only  what  may  be  called  mature  trees  two 
hundred  and  fifty  to  five  hundred  years  of  age, 
is  perhaps,  at  a  vague  guess,  not  more  than  a 
height  of  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  or 
two  hundred  feet  and  a  diameter  of  three 
feet;  though,  of  course,  throughout  the  richest 
sections  the  size  is  much  greater.  \  ^ 

In  proportion  to  its  weight  when  dry,  the 


THE  FORESTS  OF  WASHINGTON 

timber  from  this  tree  is  perhaps  stronger  than 
that  of  any  other  conifer  in  the  country.  It  is 
tough  and  durable  and  admirably  adapted  in 
every  way  for  shipbuilding,  piles,  and  heavy 
timbers  in  general.  But  its  hardness  and  lia 
bility  to  warp  render  it  much  inferior  to  white 
or  sugar  pine  for  fine  work.  In  the  lumber- 
markets  of  California  it  is  known  as  "Oregon 
pine7'  and  is  used  almost  exclusively  for  spars, 
bridge-timbers,  heavy  planking,  and  the  frame 
work  of  houses. 

The  same  species  extends  northward  in 
abundance  through  British  Columbia  and 
southward  through  the  coast  and  middle  re 
gions  of  Oregon  and  California.  It  is  also  a 
common  tree  in  the  canons  and  hollows  of 
the  Wahsatch  Mountains  in  Utah,  where  it 
is  called  "red  pine"  and  on  portions  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains  and  some  of  the  short 
ranges  of  the  Great  Basin.  Along  the  coast  of 
California  it  keeps  company  with  the  redwood 
wherever  it  can  find  a  favorable  opening.  On 
the  western  slope  of  the  Sierra,  with  the  yel 
low  pine  and  incense  cedar,  it  forms  a  pretty 
well-defined  belt  at  a  height  of  from  three 
thousand  to  six  thousand  feet  above  the  sea, 
and  extends  into  the  San  Gabriel  and  San 
Bernardino  Mountains  in  southern  Califor 
nia.  But,  though  widely  distributed,  it  is  only 

229 


STEEP  TRAILS 

in  these  cool,  moist  northlands  that  it  reaches 
its  finest  development,  tall,  straight,  elastic, 
and  free  from  limbs  to  an  immense  height, 
growing  down  to  tide-water,  where  ships  of 
the  largest  size  may  lie  close  alongside  and 
load  at  the  least  possible  cost. 

Growing  with  the  Douglas  we  find  the  white 
spruce,  or  "Sitka  pine,"  as  it  is  sometimes 
called.  This  also  is  a  very  beautiful  and  ma 
jestic  tree,  frequently  attaining  a  height  of 
two  hundred  feet  or  more  and  a  diameter  of 
five  or  six  feet.  It  is  very  abundant  in  south 
eastern  Alaska,  forming  the  greater  part  of  the 
best  forests  there.  Here  it  is  found  mostly 
around  the  sides  of  beaver-dam  and  other 
meadows  and  on  the  borders  of  the  streams, 
especially  where  the  ground  is  low.  One  tree 
that  I  saw  felled  at  the  head  of  the  Hop-Ranch 
meadows  on  the  upper  Snoqualmie  River, 
though  far  from  being  the  largest  I  have  seen, 
measured  a  hundred  and  eighty  feet  in  length 
and  four  and  a  half  in  diameter,  and  was  two 
hundred  and  fifty-seven  years  of  age. 

In  habit  and  general  appearance  it  resembles 
the  Douglas  spruce,  but  it  is  somewhat  less 
slender  and  the  needles  grow  close  together 
all  around  the  branchlets  and  are  so  stiff  and 
sharp-pointed  on  the  younger  branches  that 
they  cannot  well  be  handled  without  gloves. 

230 


THE  FORESTS  OF  WASHINGTON 

The  timber  is  tough,  close-grained,  white,  and 
looks  more  like  pine  that  any  other  of  the 
spruces.  It  splits  freely,  makes  excellent  shin 
gles  and  in  general  use  in  house-building  takes 
the  place  of  pine.  I  have  seen  logs  of  this  spe 
cies  a  hundred  feet  long  and  two  feet  in  dia 
meter  at  the  upper  end.  It  was  named  in  honor 
of  the  old  Scotch  botanist  Archibald  Menzies, 
who  came  to  this  coast  with  Vancouver  in 
1792. J 

The  beautiful  hemlock  spruce  with  its  warm 
yellow-green  foliage  is  also  common  in  some 
portions  of  these  woods.  It  is  tall  and  slender 
and  exceedingly  graceful  in  habit  before  old 
age  comes  on,  but  the  timber  is  inferior  and 
is  seldom  used  for  any  other  than  the  rough 
est  work,  such  as  wharf -building. 

The  Western  arbor-vitse 2  (Thuja  gigantea) 
grows  to  a  size  truly  gigantic  on  low  rich 
ground.  Specimens  ten  feet  in  diameter  and 
a  hundred  and  forty  feet  high  are  not  at  all 
rare.  Some  that  I  have  heard  of  are  said  to 
be  fifteen  and  even  eighteen  feet  thick.  Clad 
in  rich,  glossy  plumes,  with  gray  lichens  cov 
ering  their  smooth,  tapering  boles,  perfect  trees 

1  [This  tree,  now  known  to  botanists  as  Picea  sitchensis, 
was  named  Abies  Menziesii  by  Lindley  in  1833.] 

2  Also  known  as  "canoe  cedar,"  and  described  in  Jep- 
son's  Silva  of  California  under  the  more  recent  specific  name 
Thuja  plicata.  [Editor.] 

231 


STEEP  TRAILS 

of  this  species  are  truly  noble  objects  and  well 
worthy  the  place  they  hold  in  these  glorious 
forests.  It  is  of  this  tree  that  the  Indians  make 
their  fine  canoes. 

Of  the  other  conifers  that  are  so  happy  as  to 
have  place  here,  there  are  three  firs,  three  or 
four  pines,  two  cypresses,  a  yew,  and  another 
spruce,  the  Abies  Pattoniana.1  This  last  is  per 
haps  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the  spruces,  but, 
being  comparatively  small  and  growing  only 
far  back  on  the  mountains,  it  receives  but 
little  attention  from  most  people.  Nor  is  there 
room  in  a  work  like  this  for  anything  like  a 
complete  description  of  it,  or  of  the  others  I 
have  just  mentioned.  Of  the  three  firs,  one 
(Picea  grandis),2  grows  near  the  coast  and  is 
one  of  the  largest  trees  in  the  forest,  some 
times  attaining  a  height  of  two  hundred  and 
fifty  feet.  The  timber,  however,  is  inferior  in 
quality  and  not  much  sought  after  while  so 
much  that  is  better  is  within  reach.  One  of  the 
others  (P.  amabilis,  var.  nobilis)  forms  mag 
nificent  forests  by  itself  at  a  height  of  about 
three  thousand  to  four  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea.  The  rich  plushy,  plumelike  branches 
grow  in  regular  whorls  around  the  trunk,  and 
on  the  topmost  whorls,  standing  erect,  are  the 

1  Now  classified  as  Tsuga  mertensiana  Sarg.   [Editor.] 

2  Now  Abies  grandis  Lindley.   [Editor.] 

232 


THE  FORESTS  OF  WASHINGTON 

large,  beautiful  cones.  This  is  far  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  the  firs.  In  the  Sierra  Nevada 
it  forms  a  considerable  portion  of  the  main 
forest  belt  on  the  western  slope,  and  it  is  there 
that  it  reaches  its  greatest  size  and  greatest 
beauty.  The  third  species  (P.  subalpina)  forms, 
together  with  Abies  Pattoniana,  the  upper 
edge  of  the  timber-line  on  the  portion  of  the 
Cascades  opposite  the  Sound.  A  thousand 
feet  below  the  extreme  limit  of  tree-growth 
it  occurs  in  beautiful  groups  amid  parklike 
openings  where  flowers  grow  in  extravagant 
profusion. 

The  pines  are  nowhere  abundant  in  the 
State.  The  largest,  the  yellow  pine  (Pinus 
ponderosa),  occurs  here  and  there  on  margins 
of  dry  gravelly  prairies,  and  only  in  such  sit 
uations  have  I  yet  seen  it  in  this  State.  The 
others  (P.  monticola  and  P.  contorta)  are 
mostly  restricted  to  the  upper  slopes  of  the 
mountains,  and  though  the  former  of  these 
two  attains  a  good  size  and  makes  excellent 
lumber,  it  is  mostly  beyond  reach  at  present 
and  is  not  abundant.  One  of  the  cypresses 
(Cupressus  Lawsoniana)  1  grows  near  the  coast 
and  is  a  fine  large  tree,  clothed  like  the  arbor- 
vit86  in  a  glorious  wealth  of  flat,  feathery 

1  Chamcecyparis  lawsoniana  Parl.  (Port  Orford  cedar)  in 
Jepson's  Silva.  [Editor.] 

233 


STEEP  TRAILS 

branches.  The  other  is  found  here  and  there 
well  up  toward  the  edge  of  the  timber-line. 
This  is  the  fine  Alaska  cedar  (C.  Nootkatensis), 
the  lumber  from  which  is  noted  for  its  dura 
bility,  fineness  of  grain,  and  beautiful  yellow 
color,  and  for  its  fragrance,  which  resembles 
that  of  sandal-wood.  The  Alaska  Indians 
make  their  canoe-paddles  of  it  and  weave 
matting  and  coarse  cloth  from  the  fibrous 
brown  bark. 

Among  the  different  kinds  of  hardwood  trees 
are  the  oak,  maple,  madrona,  birch,  alder,  and 
wild  apple,  while  large  cottonwoods  are  com 
mon  along  the  rivers  and  shores  of  the  num 
erous  lakes. 

The  most  striking  of  these  to  the  traveler 
is  the  Menzies  arbutus,  or  madrona,  as  it  is 
popularly  called  in  California.  Its  curious  red 
and  yellow  bark,  large  thick  glossy  leaves,  and 
panicles  of  waxy-looking  greenish-white  urn- 
shaped  flowers  render  it  very  conspicuous. 
On  the  boles  of  the  younger  trees  and  on  all 
the  branches,  the  bark  is  so  smooth  and  seam 
less  that  it  does  not  appear  as  bark  at  all,  but 
rather  the  naked  wood.  The  whole  tree,  with 
the  exception  of  the  larger  part  of  the  trunk, 
looks  as  though  it  had  been  thoroughly  peeled. 
It  is  found  sparsely  scattered  along  the  shores 
of  the  Sound  and  back  in  the  forests  also  on 

234 


THE  FORESTS  OF  WASHINGTON 

open  margins,  where  the  soil  is  not  too  wet, 
and  extends  up  the  coast  on  Vancouver  Island 
beyond  Nanaimo.  But  in  no  part  of  the  State 
does  it  reach  anything  like  the  size  and  beauty 
of  proportions  that  it  attains  in  California, 
few  trees  here  being  more  than  ten  or  twelve 
inches  in  diameter  and  thirty  feet  high.  It 
is,  however,  a  very  remarkable-looking  object, 
standing  there  like  some  lost  or  runaway  na 
tive  of  the  tropics,  naked  and  painted,  beside 
that  dark  mossy  ocean  of  northland  conifers. 
Not  even  a  palm  tree  would  seem  more  out  of 
place  here. 

The  oaks,  so  far  as  my  observation  has 
reached,  seem  to  be  most  abundant  and  to  grow 
largest  on  the  islands  of  the  San  Juan  and 
Whidbey  Archipelago.  One  of  the  three  species 
of  maples  that  I  have  seen  is  only  a  bush  that 
makes  tangles  on  the  banks  of  the  rivers.  Of 
the  other  two  one  is  a  small  tree,  crooked  and 
moss-grown,  holding  out  its  leaves  to  catch 
the  light  that  filters  down  through  the  close- 
set  spires  of  the  great  spruces.  It  grows  almost 
everywhere  throughout  the  entire  extent  of 
the  forest  until  the  higher  slopes  of  the  moun 
tains  are  reached,  and  produces  a  very  pic 
turesque  and  delightful  effect;  relieving  the 
bareness  of  the  great  shafts  of  the  evergreens, 
without  being  close  enough  in  its  growth  to 

235 


STEEP  TRAILS 

hide  them  wholly,  or  to  cover  the  bright  mossy 
carpet  that  is  spread  beneath  all  the  dense  parts 
of  the  woods. 

The  other  species  is  also  very  picturesque 
and  at  the  same  time  very  large,  the  largest 
tree  of  its  kind  that  I  have  ever  seen  anywhere. 
Not  even  in  the  great  maple  woods  of  Canada 
have  I  seen  trees  either  as  large  or  with  so 
much  striking,  picturesque  character.  It  is 
widely  distributed  throughout  western  Wash 
ington,  but  is  never  found  scattered  among 
the  conifers  in  the  dense  woods.  It  keeps  to 
gether  mostly  in  magnificent  groves  by  itself 
on  the  damp  levels  along  the  banks  of  streams 
or  lakes  where  the  ground  is  subject  to  over 
flow.  In  such  situations  it  attains  a  height 
of  seventy-five  to  a  hundred  feet  and  a  diam 
eter  of  four  to  eight  feet.  The  trunk  sends 
out  large  limbs  toward  its  neighbors,  laden 
with  long  drooping  mosses  beneath  and  rows 
of  ferns  on  their  upper  surfaces,  thus  making 
a  grand  series  of  richly  ornamented  interlacing 
arches,  with  the  leaves  laid  thick  overhead, 
rendering  the  underwood  spaces  delightfully 
cool  and  open.  Never  have  I  seen  a  finer  for 
est  ceiling  or  a  more  picturesque  one,  while 
the  floor,  covered  with  tall  ferns  and  rubus  and 
thrown  into  hillocks  by  the  bulging  roots, 
matches  it  well.  The  largest  of  these  maple 

236 


THE  FORESTS  OF  WASHINGTON 

groves  that  I  have  yet  found  is  on  the  right 
bank  of  the  Snoqualmie  River,  about  a  mile 
above  the  falls.  The  whole  country  hereabouts 
is  picturesque,  and  interesting  in  many  ways, 
and  well  worthy  a  visit  by  tourists  passing 
through  the  Sound  region,  since  it  is  now 
accessible  by  rail  from  Seattle. 

Looking  now  at  the  forests  in  a  comprehen 
sive  way,  we  find  in  passing  through  them 
again  and  again  from  the  shores  of  the  Sound 
to  their  upper  limits,  that  some  portions  are 
much  older  than  others,  the  trees  much  larger, 
and  the  ground  beneath  them  strewn  with 
immense  trunks  in  every  stage  of  decay,  re 
presenting  several  generations  of  growth, 
everything  about  them  giving  the  impression 
that  these  are  indeed  the  " forests  primeval," 
while  in  the  younger  portions,  where  the  ele 
vation  of  the  ground  is  the  same  as  to  the  sea- 
level  and  the  species  of  trees  are  the  same  as 
well  as  the  quality  of  the  soil,  apart  from  the 
moisture  which  it  holds,  the  trees  seem  to  be 
and  are  mostly  of  the  same  age,  perhaps  from 
one  hundred  to  two  or  three  hundred  years, 
with  no  gray-bearded,  venerable  patriarchs  — 
forming  tall,  majestic  woods  without  any 
grandfathers. 

When  we  examine  the  ground  we  find  that 
it  is  as  free  from  those  mounds  of  brown  crum- 

237 


STEEP  TRAILS 

bling  wood  and  mossy  ancient  fragments  as 
are  the  growing  trees  from  very  old  ones.  Then, 
perchance,  we  come  upon  a  section  farther 
up  the  slopes  towards  the  mountains  that  has 
no  trees  more  than  fifty  years  old,  or  even 
fifteen  or  twenty  years  old.  These  last  show 
plainly  enough  that  they  have  been  devas 
tated  by  fire,  as  the  black,  melancholy  monu 
ments  rising  here  and  there  above  the  young 
growth  bear  witness.  Then,  with  this  fiery, 
suggestive  testimony,  on  examining  those  sec 
tions  whose  trees  are  a  hundred  years  old  or 
two  hundred,  we  find  the  same  fire-records, 
though  heavily  veiled  with  mosses  and  lichens, 
showing  that  a  century  or  two  ago  the  forests 
that  stood  there  had  been  swept  away  in  some 
tremendous  fire  at  a  time  when  rare  condi 
tions  of  drouth  made  their  burning  possible. 
Then,  the  bare  ground  sprinkled  with  the 
winged  seeds  from  the  edges  of  the  burned 
district,  a  new  forest  sprang  up,  nearly  every 
tree  starting  at  the  same  time  or  within  a  few 
years,  thus  producing  the  uniformity  of  size 
we  find  in  such  places;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
in  those  sections  of  ancient  aspect  containing 
very  old  trees  both  standing  and  fallen,  we 
find  no  traces  of  fire,  nor  from  the  extreme 
dampness  of  the  ground  can  we  see  any  possi 
bility  of  fire  ever  running  there. 

238 


THE  FORESTS  OF  WASHINGTON 

Fire,  then,  is  the  great  governing  agent  in 
forest-distribution  and  to  a  great  extent  also 
in  the  conditions  of  forest-growth.  Where  fer 
tile  lands  are  very  wet  one  half  the  year  and 
very  dry  the  other,  there  can  be  no  forests  at 
all.  Where  the  ground  is  damp,  with  drouth 
occurring  only  at  intervals  of  centuries,  fine 
forests  may  be  found,  other  conditions  being 
favorable.  But  it  is  only  where  fires  never  run 
that  truly  ancient  forests  of  pitchy  coniferous 
trees  may  exist.  When  the  Washington  for 
ests  are  seen  from  the  deck  of  a  ship  out  in  the 
middle  of  the  Sound,  or  even  from  the  top  of 
some  high,  commanding  mountain,  the  woods 
seem  everywhere  perfectly  solid.  And  so  in 
fact  they  are  in  general  found  to  be.  The  larg 
est  openings  are  those  of  the  lakes  and  prai 
ries,  the  smaller  of  beaver-meadows,  bogs,  and 
the  rivers;  none  of  them  large  enough  to  make 
a  distinct  mark  in  comprehensive  views. 

Of  the  lakes  there  are  said  to  be  some  thirty 
in  King's  County  alone;  the  largest,  Lake 
Washington,  being  twenty-six  miles  long  and 
four  miles  wide.  Another,  which  enjoys  the 
duckish  name  of  Lake  Squak,  is  about  ten 
miles  long.  Both  are  pure  and  beautiful,  ly 
ing  imbedded  in  the  green  wilderness.  The 
rivers  are  numerous  and  are  but  little  affected 
by  the  weather,  flowing  with  deep,  steady 

239 


STEEP  TRAILS 

currents  the  year  round.  They  are  short,  how 
ever,  none  of  them  drawing  their  sources  from 
beyond  the  Cascade  Range.  Some  are  navi 
gable  for  small  steamers  on  their  lower  courses, 
but  the  openings  they  make  in  the  woods  are 
very  narrow,  the  tall  trees  on  their  banks  lean 
ing  over  in  some  places,  making  fine  shady 
tunnels. 

The  largest  of  the  prairies  that  I  have  seen 
lies  to  the  south  of  Tacoma  on  the  line  of  the 
Portland  and  Tacoma  Railroad.  The  ground 
is  dry  and  gravelly,  a  deposit  of  water-washed 
cobbles  and  pebbles  derived  from  moraines  — 
conditions  which  readily  explain  the  absence 
of  trees  here  and  on  other  prairies  adjacent 
to  Yelm.  Berries  grow  in  lavish  abundance, 
enough  for  man  and  beast  with  thousands  of 
tons  to  spare.  The  woods  are  full  of  them, 
especially  about  the  borders  of  the  waters  and 
meadows  where  the  sunshine  may  enter.  No 
where  in  the  north  does  Nature  set  a  more 
bountiful  table.  There  are  huckleberries  of 
many  species,  red,  blue,  and  black,  some  of 
them  growing  close  to  the  ground,  others  on 
bushes  eight  to  ten  feet  high;  also  salal  berries, 
growing  on  a  low,  weak-stemmed  bush,  a  spe 
cies  of  gaultheria,  seldom  more  than  a  foot 
or  two  high.  This  has  pale  pea-green  glossy 
leaves  two  or  three  inches  long  and  half  an 

240 


THE  FOKESTS  OF  WASHINGTON 

inch  wide  and  beautiful  pink  flowers,  urn- 
shaped,  .that  make  a  fine,  rich  show.  The 
berries  are  black  when  ripe,  are  extremely 
abundant,  and,  with  the  huckleberries,  form 
an  important  part  of  the  food  of  the  Indians, 
who  beat  them  into  paste,  dry  them,  and  store 
them  away  for  winter  use,  to  be  eaten  with 
their  oily  fish.  The  salmon-berry  also  is  very 
plentiful,  growing  in  dense  prickly  tangles. 
The  flowers  are  as  large  as  wild  roses  and  of 
the  same  color,  and  the  berries  measure  nearly 
an  inch  in  diameter.  Besides  these  there  are 
gooseberries,  currants,  raspberries,  blackber 
ries,  and,  in  some  favored  spots,  strawberries. 
The  mass  of  the  underbrush  of  the  woods  is 
made  up  in  great  part  of  these  berry-bearing 
bushes,  together  with  white-flowered  spiraea 
twenty  feet  high,  hazel,  dogwood,  wild  rose, 
honeysuckle,  symphoricarpus,  etc.  But  in  the 
depths  of  the  woods,  where  little  sunshine  can 
reach  the  ground,  there  is  but  little  under 
brush  of  any  kind,  only  a  very  light  growth 
of  huckleberry  and  rubus  and  young  maples 
in  most  places.  The  difficulties  encountered 
by  the  explorer  in  penetrating  the  wilderness 
are  presented  mostly  by  the  streams  and  bogs, 
with  their  tangled  margins,  and  the  fallen 
timber  and  thick  carpet  of  moss  covering  all 
the  ground. 

241 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Notwithstanding  the  tremendous  energy 
displayed  in  lumbering  and  the  grand  scale 
on  which  it  is  being  carried  on,  and  the  num 
ber  of  settlers  pushing  into  every  opening  in 
search  of  farmlands,  the  woods  of  Washington 
are  still  almost  entirely  virgin  and  wild,  with 
out  trace  of  human  touch,  savage  or  civilized. 
Indians,  no  doubt,  have  ascended  most  of  the 
rivers  on  their  way  to  the  mountains  to  hunt 
the  wild  sheep  and  goat  to  obtain  wool  for 
their  clothing,  but  with  food  hi  abundance  on 
the  coast  they  had  little  to  tempt  them  into 
the  wilderness,  and  the  monuments  they  have 
left  in  it  are  scarcely  more  conspicuous  than 
those  of  squirrels  and  bears;  far  less  so  than 
those  of  the  beavers,  which  in  damming  the 
streams  have  made  clearings  and  meadows 
which  will  continue  to  mark  the  landscape  for 
centuries.  Nor  is  there  much  in  these  woods 
to  tempt  the  farmer  or  cattle-raiser.  A  few 
settlers  established  homes  on  the  prairies  or 
open  borders  of  the  woods  and  in  the  valleys 
of  the  Chehalis  and  Cowlitz  before  the  gold 
days  of  California.  Most  of  the  early  immi 
grants  from  the  Eastern  States,  however,  set 
tled  in  the  fertile  and  open  Willamette  Valley 
of  Oregon.  Even  now,  when  the  search  for 
land  is  so  keen,  with  the  exception  of  the  bot 
tom  lands  around  the  Sound  and  on  the  lower 

242 


THE  FORESTS  OF  WASHINGTON 

reaches  of  the  rivers,  there  are  comparatively 
few  spots  of  cultivation  in  western  Washing 
ton.  On  every  meadow  or  opening  of  any  kind 
some  one  will  be  found  keeping  cattle,  plant 
ing  hop-vines,  or  raising  hay,  vegetables,  and 
patches  of  grain.  All  the  large  spaces  avail 
able,  even  back  near  the  summits  of  the  Cas 
cade  Mountains,  were  occupied  long  ago.  The 
newcomers,  building  their  cabins  where  the 
beavers  once  built  theirs,  keep  a  few  cows  and 
industriously  seek  to  enlarge  their  small  mea 
dow  patches  by  chopping,  girdling,  and  burn 
ing  the  edge  of  the  encircling  forest,  gnawing 
like  beavers,  and  scratching  for  a  living  among 
the  blackened  stumps  and  logs,  regarding  the 
trees  as  their  greatest  enemies  —  a  sort  of 
larger  pernicious  weed  immensely  difficult  to 
get  rid  of. 

But  all  these  are  as  yet  mere  spots,  making 
no  visible  scar  in  the  distance  and  leaving  the 
grand  stretches  of  the  forest  as  wild  as  they 
were  before  the  discovery  of  the  continent.  For 
many  years  the  axe  has  been  busy  around  the 
shores  of  the  Sound  and  chips  have  been  fall 
ing  in  perpetual  storm  like  flakes  of  snow.  The 
best  of  the  timber  has  been  cut  for  a  distance 
of  eight  or  ten  miles  from  the  water  and  to  a 
much  greater  distance  along  the  streams  deep 
enough  to  float  the  logs.  Railroads,  too,  have 

243 


STEEP  TRAILS 

been  built  to  fetch  in  the  logs  from  the  best 
bodies  of  timber  otherwise  inaccessible  except 
at  great  cost.  None  of  the  ground,  however, 
has  been  completely  denuded.  Most  of  the 
young  trees  have  been  left,  together  with  the 
hemlocks  and  other  trees  undesirable  in  kind 
or  in  some  way  defective,  so  that  the  neigh 
boring  trees  appear  to  have  closed  over  the 
gaps  made  by  the  removal  of  the  larger  and 
better  ones,  maintaining  the  general  contin 
uity  of  the  forest  and  leaving  no  sign  on  the 
sylvan  sea,  at  least  as  seen  from  a  distance. 

In  felling  the  trees  they  cut  them  off  usu 
ally  at  a  height  of  six  to  twelve  feet  above  the 
ground,  so  as  to  avoid  cutting  through  the 
swollen  base,  where  the  diameter  is  so  much 
greater.  In  order  to  reach  this  height  the 
chopper  cuts  a  notch  about  two  inches  wide 
and  three  or  four  deep  and  drives  a  board  into 
it,  on  which  he  stands  while  at  work.  In  case 
the  first  notch,  cut  as  high  as  he  can  reach,  is 
not  high  enough,  he  stands  on  the  board  that 
has  been  driven  into  the  first  notch  and  cuts 
another.  Thus  the  axeman  may  often  be  seen 
at  work  standing  eight  or  ten  feet  above  the 
ground.  If  the  tree  is  so  large  that  with  his 
long-handled  axe  the  chopper  is  unable  to 
reach  to  the  farther  side  of  it,  then  a  second 
chopper  is  set  to  work,  each  cutting  halfway 

244 


THE  FORESTS  OF  WASHINGTON 

across.  And  when  the  tree  is  about  to  fall, 
warned  by  the  faint  crackling  of  the  strained 
fibers,  they  jump  to  the  ground,  and  stand 
back  out  of  danger  from  flying  limbs,  while 
the  noble  giant  that  had  stood  erect  hi  glori 
ous  strength  and  beauty  century  after  cen 
tury,  bows  low  at  last  and  with  gasp  and  groan 
and  booming  throb  falls  to  earth. 

Then  with  long  saws  the  trees  are  cut  into 
logs  of  the  required  length,  peeled,  loaded  upon 
wagons  capable  of  carrying  a  weight  of  eight 
or  ten  tons,  hauled  by  a  long  string  of  oxen 
to  the  nearest  available  stream  or  railroad,  and 
floated  or  carried  to  the  Sound.  There  the 
logs  are  gathered  into  booms  and  towed  by 
steamers  to  the  mills,  where  workmen  with 
steel  spikes  in  their  boots  leap  lightly  with 
easy  poise  from  one  to  another  and  by  means 
of  long  pike-poles  push  them  apart  and,  select 
ing  such  as  are  at  the  time  required,  push  them 
to  the  foot  of  a  chute  and  drive  dogs  into  the 
ends,  when  they  are  speedily  hauled  in  by  the 
mill  machinery  alongside  the  saw-carriage  and 
placed  and  fixed  in  position.  Then  with  sounds 
of  greedy  hissing  and  growling  they  are  rushed 
back  and  forth  like  enormous  shuttles,  and  in 
an  incredibly  short  time  they  are  lumber  and 
are  aboard  the  ships  lying  at  the  mill  wharves. 

Many  of  the  long,  slender  boles  so  abundant 

245 


STEEP  TRAILS 

in  these  woods  are  saved  for  spars,  and  so  ex 
cellent  is  their  quality  that  they  are  in  demand 
in  almost  every  shipyard  of  the  world.  Thus 
these  trees,  felled  and  stripped  of  their  leaves 
and  branches,  are  raised  again,  transplanted 
and  set  firmly  erect,  given  roots  of  iron  and  a 
new  foliage  of  flapping  canvas,  and  sent  to 
sea.  On  they  speed  in  glad,  free  motion,  cheer 
ily  waving  over  the  blue,  heaving  water,  re 
sponsive  to  the  same  winds  that  rocked  them 
when  they  stood  at  home  in  the  woods.  After 
standing  in  one  place  all  then-  lives  they  now, 
like  sight-seeing  tourists,  go  round  the  world, 
meeting  many  a  relative  from  the  old  home 
forest,  some  like  themselves,  wandering  free, 
clad  in  broad  canvas  foliage,  others  planted 
head  downward  in  mud,  holding  wharf  plat 
forms  aloft  to  receive  the  wares  of  all  nations. 
The  mills  of  Puget  Sound  and  those  of  the 
redwood  region  of  California  are  said  to  be  the 
largest  and  most  effective  lumber-makers  in 
the  world.  Tacoma  alone  claims  to  have  eleven 
sawmills,  and  Seattle  about  as  many;  while 
at  many  other  points  on  the  Sound,  where  the 
conditions  are  particularly  favorable,  there 
are  immense  lumbering  establishments,  as  at 
Ports  Blakely,  Marli^on,  Discovery,  Gamble, 
Ludlow,  etc.,  with  a  capacity  all  together  of 
over  three  million  feet  a  day.  Nevertheless, 

246 


THE  FORESTS  OF  WASHINGTON 

the  observer  coining  up  the  Sound  sees  not 
nor  hears  anything  of  this  fierce  storm  of  steel 
that  is  devouring  the  forests,  save  perhaps 
the  shriek  of  some  whistle  or  the  columns  of 
smoke  that  mark  the  position  of  the  mills.  All 
else  seems  as  sferene  and  unscathed  as  the 
silent  watching  mountains. 


XIX 

PEOPLE  AND  TOWNS  OF  PUGET  SOUND 

As  one  strolls  in  the  woods  about  the  logging- 
camps,  most  of  the  lumbermen  are  found  to 
be  interesting  people  to  meet,  kind  and  oblig 
ing  and  sincere,  full  of  knowledge  concerning 
the  bark  and  sapwood  and  heartwood  of  the 
trees  they  cut,  and  how  to  fell  them  without 
unnecessary  breakage,  on  ground  where  they 
may  be  most  advantageously  sawed  into  logs 
and  loaded  for  removal.  The  work  is  hard, 
and  all  of  the  older  men  have  a  tired,  some 
what  haggard  appearance.  Their  faces  are 
doubtful  in  color,  neither  sickly  nor  quite 
healthy-looking,  and  seamed  with  deep  wrin 
kles  like  the  bark  of  the  spruces,  but  with  no 
trace  of  anxiety.  Their  clothing  is  full  of  rosin 
and  never  wears  out.  A  little  of  everything  in 
the  woods  is  stuck  fast  to  these  loggers,  and 
their  trousers  grow  constantly  thicker  with 
age.  In  all  their  movements  and  gestures  they 
are  heavy  and  deliberate  like  the  trees  above 
them,  and  they  walk  with  a  swaying,  rocking 
gait  altogether  free  from  quick,  jerky  fussiness, 
for  chopping  and  log-rolling  have  quenched  all 
that.  They  are  also  slow  of -speech,  as  if  partly 

248 


TOWNS  OF  PUGET  SOUND 

out  of  breath,  and  when  one  tries  to  draw  them 
out  on  some  subject  away  from  logs,  all  the 
fresh,  leafy,  outreaching  branches  of  the  mind 
seem  to  have  been  withered  and  killed  with 
fatigue,  leaving  their  lives  little  more  than 
dry  lumber.  Many  a  tree  have  these  old  axe 
men  felled,  but,  round-shouldered  and  stooping, 
they  too  are  beginning  to  lean  over.  Many 
of  their  companions  are  already  beneath  the 
moss,  and  among  those  that  we  see  at  work 
some  are  now  dead  at  the  top  (bald),  leafless, 
so  to  speak,  and  tottering  to  their  fall. 

A  very  different  man,  seen  now  and  then 
at  long  intervals  but  usually  invisible,  is  the 
free  roamer  of  the  wilderness  —  hunter,  pros 
pector,  explorer,  seeking  he  knows  not  what. 
Lithe  and  sinewy,  he  walks  erect,  making  his 
way  with  the  skill  of  wild  animals,  all  his  senses 
in  action,  watchful  and  alert,  looking  keenly 
at  everything  in  sight,  his  imagination  well 
nourished  in  the  wealth  of  the  wilderness, 
coming  into  contact  with  free  nature  in  a 
thousand  forms,  drinking  at  the  fountains  of 
things,  responsive  to  wild  influences,  as  trees 
to  the  winds.  Well  he  knows  the  wild  animals 
his  neighbors,  what  fishes  are  in  the  streams, 
what  birds  in  the  forests,  and  where  food  may 
be  found.  Hungry  at  times  and  weary,  he  has 
corresponding  enjoyment  in  eating  and  rest- 

249 


STEEP  TRAILS 

ing,  and  all  the  wilderness  is  home.  Some  of 
these  rare,  happy  rovers  die  alone  among  the 
leaves.  Others  half  settle  down  and  change 
in  part  into  farmers;  each,  making  choice  of 
some  fertile  spot  where  the  landscape  attracts 
him,  builds  a  small  cabin,  where,  with  few 
wants  to  supply  from  garden  or  field,  he  hunts 
and  farms  in  turn,  going  perhaps  once  a  year 
to  the  settlements,  until  night  begins  to  draw 
near,  and,  like  forest  shadows,  thickens  into 
darkness  and  his  day  is  done.  In  these  Wash 
ington  wilds,  living  alone,  all  sorts  of  men  may 
perchance  be  found  —  poets,  philosophers,  and 
even  full-blown  transcendentalists,  though  you 
may  go  far  to  find  them. 

Indians  are  seldom  to  be  met  with  away 
from  the  Sound,  excepting  about  the  few  out 
lying  hop-ranches,  to  which  they  resort  in 
great  numbers  during  the  picking-season.  Nor 
in  your  walks  in  the  woods  will  you  be  likely 
to  see  many  of  the  wild  animals,  however  far 
you  may  go,  with  the  exception  of  the  Douglas 
squirrel  and  the  mountain  goat.  The  squirrel  is 
everywhere,  and  the  goat  you  can  hardly  fail 
to  find  if  you  climb  any  of  the  high  mountains. 
The  deer,  once  very  abundant,  may  still  be 
found  on  the  islands  and  along  the  shores  of 
the  Sound,  but  the  large  gray  wolves  render 
their  existence  next  to  impossible  at  any  con- 

250 


TOWNS  OF  PUGET  SOUND 

siderable  distance  back  in  the  woods  of  the 
mainland,  as  they  can  easily  run  them  down 
unless  they  are  near  enough  to  the  coast  to 
make  their  escape  by  plunging  into  the  water 
and  swimming  to  the  islands  off  shore.  The  elk 
and  perhaps  also  the  moose  still  exist  in  the 
most  remote  and  inaccessible  solitudes  of  the 
forest,  but  their  numbers  have  been  greatly  re 
duced  of  late,  and  even  the  most  experienced 
hunters  have  difficulty  in  finding  them.  Of 
bears  there  are  two  species,  the  black  and  the 
large  brown,  the  former  by  far  the  more  com 
mon  of  the  two.  On  the  shaggy  bottom-lands 
where  berries  are  plentiful,  and  along  the  rivers 
while  salmon  are  going  up  to  spawn,  the  black 
bear  may  be  found,  fat  and  at  home.  Many 
are  killed  every  year,  both  for  their  flesh  and 
skins.  The  large  brown  species  likes  higher 
and  opener  ground.  He  is  a  dangerous  animal, 
a  near  relative  of  the  famous  grizzly,  and  wise 
hunters  are  very  fond  of  letting  him  alone. 

The  towns  of  Puget  Sound  are  of  a  very 
lively,  progressive,  and  aspiring  kind,  fortu 
nately  with  abundance  of  substance  about 
them  to  warrant  their  ambition  and  make 
them  grow.  Like  young  sapling  sequoias, 
they  are  sending  out  their  roots  far  and  near 
for  nourishment,  counting  confidently  on  lon 
gevity  and  grandeur  of  stature.  Seattle  and 

251 


STEEP  TRAILS 

x 

Tacoma  are  at  present  far  in  the  lead  of  all 
others  in  the  race  for  supremacy,  and  these 
two  are  keen,  active  rivals,  to  all  appearances 
well  matched.  Tacoma  occupies  near  the  head 
of  the  Sound  a  site  of  great  natural  beauty. 
It  is  the  terminus  of  the  Northern  Pacific 
Railroad,  and  calls  itself  the  "City  of  Des 
tiny."  Seattle  is  also  charmingly  located 
about  twenty  miles  down  the  Sound  from 
Tacoma,  on  Elliott  Bay.  It  is  the  terminus  of 
the  Seattle,  Lake-Shore,  and  Eastern  Railroad, 
now  in  process  of  construction,  and  calls  it 
self  the  " Queen  City  of  the  Sound"  and  the 
" Metropolis  of  Washington."  What  the  pop 
ulations  of  these  towns  number  I  am  not  able 
to  say  with  anything  like  exactness.  They 
are  probably  about  the  same  size  and  they 
each  claim  to  have  about  twenty  thousand 
people;  but  their  figures  are  so  rapidly  chang 
ing,  and  so  often  mixed  up  with  counts  that 
refer  to  the  future  that  exact  measurements  of 
either  of  these  places  are  about  as  hard  to 
obtain  as  measurements  of  the  clouds  of  a 
growing  storm.  Their  edges  run  back  for  miles 
into  the  woods  among  the  trees  and  stumps 
and  brush  which  hide  a  good  many  of  the 
houses  and  the  stakes  which  mark  the  lots; 
so  that,  without  being  as  yet  very  large  towns, 
they  seem  to  fade  away  into  the  distance. 

252 


TOWNS  OF  PUGET  SOUND 

But,  though  young  and  loose-jointed,  they 
are  fast  taking  on  the  forms  and  manners  of 
old  cities,  putting  on  airs,  as  some  would  say, 
like  boys  in  haste  to  be  men.  They  are  already 
towns  "with  all  modern  improvements,  first- 
class  in  every  particular,"  as  is  said  of  hotels. 
They  have  electric  motors  and  lights,  paved 
broadways  and  boulevards,  substantial  busi 
ness  blocks,  schools,  churches,  factories,  and 
foundries.  The  lusty,  titanic  clang  of  boiler- 
making  may  be  heard  there,  and  plenty  of  the 
languid  music  of  pianos  mingling  with  the 
babel  noises  of  commerce  carried  on  in  a  hun 
dred  tongues.  The  main  streets  are  crowded 
with  bright,  wide-awake  lawyers,  ministers, 
merchants,  agents  for  everything  under  the 
sun;  ox-drivers  and  loggers  in  stiff,  gummy 
overalls;  back-slanting  dudes,  well-tailored  and 
shiny;  and  fashions  and  bonnets  of  every 
feather  and  color  bloom  gayly  in  the  noisy 
throng  and  advertise  London  and  Paris.  Vig 
orous  life  and  strife  are  to  be  seen  everywhere. 
The  spirit  of  progress  is  in  the  ah*.  Still  it  is 
hard  to  realize  how  much  good  work  is  being 
done  here  of  a  kind  that  makes  for  civilization 
—  the  enthusiastic,  exulting  energy  displayed 
in  the  building  of  new  towns,  railroads,  and 
mills,  in  the  opening  of  mines  of  coal  and  iron 
and  the  development  of  natural  resources  in 

253 


STEEP  TRAILS 

general.  To  many,  especially  in  the  Atlantic 
States,  Washington  is  hardly  known  at  all. 
It  is  regarded  as  being  yet  a  far  wild  west — 
a  dim,  nebulous  expanse  of  woods  —  by  those 
who  do  not  know  that  railroads  and  steamers 
have  brought  the  country  out  of  the  wilderness 
and  abolished  the  old  distances.  It  is  now  near 
to  all  the  world  and  is  in  possession  of  a  share 
of  the  best  of  all  that  civilization  has  to  offer, 
while  on  some  of  the  lines  of  advancement  it 
is  at  the  front. 

Notwithstanding  the  sharp  rivalry  between 
different  sections  and  towns,  the  leading  men 
mostly  pull  together  for  the  general  good  and 
glory,  —  building,  buying,  borrowing,  to  push 
the  country  to  its  place;  keeping  arithmetic 
busy  in  counting  population  present  and  to 
come,  ships,  towns,  factories,  tons  of  coal  and 
iron,  feet  of  lumber,  miles  of  railroad,  —  Ameri 
cans,  Scandinavians,  Irish,  Scotch,  and  Ger 
mans  being  joined  together  in  the  white  heat 
of  work  like  religious  crowds  in  tune  of  re 
vival  who  have  forgotten  sectarianism.  It  is  a 
fine  thing  to  see  people  in  hot  earnest  about 
anything;  therefore,  however  extravagant  and 
high  the  brag  ascending  from  Puget  Sound, 
in  most  cases  it  is  likely  to  appear  pardonable 
and  more. 

Seattle  was  named  after  an  old  Indian  chief 

254 


TOWNS  OF  PUGET  SOUND 

who  lived  in  this  part  of  the  Sound.  He  was 
very  proud  of  the  honor  and  lived  long  enough 
to  lead  his  grandchildren  about  the  streets. 
The  greater  part  of  the  lower  business  portion 
of  the  town,  including  a  long  stretch  of  wharves 
and  warehouses  built  on  piles,  was  destroyed 
by  fire  a  few  months  ago,1  with  immense  loss. 
The  people,  however,  are  in  no  wise  discour 
aged,  and  ere  long  the  loss  will  be  gain,  inas 
much  as  a  better  class  of  buildings,  chiefly  of 
brick,  are  being  erected  in  place  of  the  in 
flammable  wooden  ones,  which,  with  com 
paratively  few  exceptions,  were  built  of  pitchy 
spruce. 

With  their  own  scenery  so  glorious  ever  on 
show,  one  would  at  first  thought  suppose  that 
these  happy  Puget  Sound  people  would  never 
go  sightseeing  from  home  like  less  favored 
mortals.  But  they  do  all  the  same.  Some  go 
boating  on  the  Sound  or  on  the  lakes  and 
rivers,  or  with  their  families  make  excursions 
at  small  cost  on  the  steamers.  Others  will 
take  the  train  to  the  Franklin  and  Newcastle 
or  Carbon  River  coal-mines  for  the  sake  of 
the  thirty-  or  forty-mile  rides  through  the 
woods,  and  a  look  into  the  black  depths  of  the 
underworld.  Others  again  take  the  steamers 
for  Victoria,  Fraser  River,  or  Vancouver,  the 

1  1889. 
255 


STEEP  TRAILS 

new  ambitious  town  at  the  terminus  of  the 
Canadian  Railroad,  thus  getting  views  of  the 
outer  world  in  a  near  foreign  country.  One 
of  the  regular  summer  resorts  of  this  region 
where  people  go  for  fishing,  hunting,  and  the 
healing  of  diseases,  is  the  Green  River  Hot 
Springs,  in  the  Cascade  Mountains,  sixty-one 
miles  east  of  Tacoma,  on  the  line  of  the  North 
ern  Pacific  Railroad.  Green  River  is  a  small 
rocky  stream  with  picturesque  banks,  and 
derives  its  name  from  the  beautiful  pale-green 
hue  of  its  waters. 

Among  the  most  interesting  of  all  the  sum 
mer  rest  and  pleasure  places  is  the  famous 
"Hop  Ranch "  on  the  upper  Snoqualmie  River, 
thirty  or  forty  miles  eastward  from  Seattle. 
Here  the  dense  forest  opens,  allowing  fine  free 
views  of  the  adjacent  mountains  from  a  long 
stretch  of  ground  which  is  half  meadow,  half 
prairie,  level  and  fertile,  and  beautifully  diver 
sified  with  outstanding  groves  of  spruces  and 
alders  and  rich  flowery  fringes  of  spiraea  and 
wild  roses,  the  river  meandering  deep  and 
tranquil  through  the  midst  of  it.  On  the  por 
tions  most  easily  cleared  some  three  hun 
dred  acres  of  hop- vines  have  been  planted  and 
are  now  in  full  bearing,  yielding,  it  is  said,  at 
the  rate  of  about  a  ton  of  hops  to  the  acre. 
They  are  a  beautiful  crop,  these  vines  of  the 

256 


TOWNS  OF  PUGET  SOUND 

north,  pillars  of  verdure  in  regular  rows,  seven 
feet  apart  and  eight  or  ten  feet  in  height;  the 
long,  vigorous  shoots  sweeping  round  in  fine, 
wild  freedom,  and  the  light,  leafy  cones  hang 
ing  in  loose,  handsome  clusters. 

Perhaps  enough  of  hops  might  be  raised  in 
Washington  for  the  wants  of  all  the  world, 
but  it  would  be  impossible  to  find  pickers  to 
handle  the  crop.  Most  of  the  picking  is  done 
by  Indians,  and  to  this  fine,  clean,  profitable 
work  they  come  in  great  numbers  in  their 
canoes,  old  and  young,  of  many  different 
tribes,  bringing  wives  and  children  and  house 
hold  goods,  in  some  cases  from  a  distance  of 
five  or  six  hundred  miles,  even  from  far  Alaska. 
Then  they  too  grow  rich  and  spend  their 
money  on  red  cloth  and  trinkets.  About  a 
thousand  Indians  are  required  as  pickers  at 
the  Snoqualmie  ranch  alone,  and  a  lively  and 
merry  picture  they  make  in  the  field,  arrayed 
in  bright,  showy  calicoes,  lowering  the  rustling 
vine-pillars  with  incessant  song-singing  and 
fun.  Still  more  striking  are  their  queer  camps 
on  the  edges  of  the  fields  or  over  on  the  river- 
bank,  with  the  firelight  shining  on  their  wild, 
jolly  faces.  But  woe  to  the  ranch  should  fire 
water  get  there! 

But  the  chief  attractions  here  are  not  found 
in  the  hops,  but  in  trout-fishing  and  bear- 

257 


STEEP  TRAILS 

hunting,  and  in  the  two  fine  falls  on  the  river. 
Formerly  the  trip  from  Seattle  was  a  hard  one, 
over  corduroy  roads;  now  it  is  reached  in  a 
few  hours  by  rail  along  the  shores  of  Lake 
Washington  and  Lake  Squak,  through  a  fine 
sample  section  of  the  forest  and  past  the  brow 
of  the  main  Snoqualmie  Fall.  From  the  hotel 
at  the  ranch  village  the  road  to  the  fall  leads 
down  the  right  bank  of  the  river  through  the 
magnificent  maple  woods  I  have  mentioned 
elsewhere,  and  fine  views  of  the  fall  may  be 
had  on  that  side,  both  from  above  and  below. 
It  is  situated  on  the  main  river,  where  it 
plunges  over  a  sheer  precipice,  about  two 
hundred  and  forty  feet  high,  in  leaving  the 
level  meadows  of  the  ancient  lake-basin.  In 
a  general  way  it  resembles  the  well-known 
Nevada  Fall  in  Yosemite,  having  the  same 
twisted  appearance  at  the  top  and  the  free 
plunge  in  numberless  comet-shaped  masses 
into  a  deep  pool  seventy-five  or  eighty  yards 
in  diameter.  The  pool  is  of  considerable  depth, 
as  is  shown  by  the  radiating  well-beaten  foam 
and  mist,  which  is  of  a  beautiful  rose  color  at 
times,  of  exquisite  fineness  of  tone,  and  by  the 
heavy  waves  that  lash  the  rocks  in  front  of  it. 
Though  to  a  Californian  the  height  of  this 
fall  would  not  seem  great,  the  volume  of  water 
is  heavy,  and  all  the  surroundings  are  delight- 

258 


TOWNS  OF  PUGET  SOUND 

ful.  The  maple  forest,  of  itself  worth  a  long 
journey,  the  beauty  of  the  river-reaches  above 
and  below,  and  the  views  down  the  valley 
afar  over  the  mighty  forests,  with  all  its  lovely 
trimmings  of  ferns  and  flowers,  make  this  one 
of  the  most  interesting  falls  I  have  ever  seen. 
The  upper  fall  is  about  seventy-five  feet  high, 
with  bouncing  rapids  at  head  and  foot,  set 
in  a  romantic  dell  thatched  with  dripping 
mosses  and  ferns  and  embowered  in  dense 
evergreens  and  blooming  bushes,  the  distance 
to  it  from  the  upper  end  of  the  meadows  being 
about  eight  miles.  The  road  leads  through 
majestic  woods  with  ferns  ten  feet  high  be 
neath  some  of  the  thickets,  and  across  a  grav 
elly  plain  deforested  by  fire  many  years  ago. 
Orange  lilies  are  plentiful,  and  handsome  shin 
ing  mats  of  the  kinnikinic,  sprinkled  with 
bright  scarlet  berries. 

From  a  place  called  "Hunt's,"  at  the  end  of 
the  wagon-road,  a  trail  leads  through  lush,  drip 
ping  woods  (never  dry)  to  Thuja  and  Mertens, 
Menzies,  and  Douglas  spruces.  The  ground 
is  covered  with  the  best  moss-work  of  the 
moist  lands  of  the  north,  made  up  mostly  of 
the  various  species  of  hypnum,  with  some 
liverworts,  marchantia,  jungermannia,  etc.,  in 
broad  sheets  and  bosses,  where  never  a  dust- 
particle  floated,  and  where  all  the  flowers, 
259 


STEEP  TRAILS 

fresh  with  mist  and  spray,  are  wetter  than 
water-lilies.  The  pool  at  the  foot  of  the  fall 
is  a  place  surpassingly  lovely  to  look  at,  with 
the  enthusiastic  rush  and  song  of  the  falls,  the 
majestic  trees  overhead  leaning  over  the  brink 
like  listeners  eager  to  catch  every  word  of  the 
white  refreshing  waters,  the  delicate  maiden 
hairs  and  aspleniums  with  fronds  outspread 
gathering  the  rainbow  sprays,  and  the  myr 
iads  of  hooded  mosses,  every  cup  fresh  and 
shining. 


XX 

AN  ASCENT  OF  MOUNT  RAINIER 

AMBITIOUS  climbers,  seeking  adventures 
and  opportunities  to  test  their  strength  and 
skill,  occasionally  attempt  to  penetrate  the 
wilderness  on  the  west  side  of  the  Sound,  and 
push  on  to  the  summit  of  Mount  Olympus. 
But  the  grandest  excursion  of  all  to  be  made 
hereabouts  is  to  Mount  Rainier,  to  climb  to 
the  top  of  its  icy  crown.  The  mountain  is  very 
high,1  fourteen  thousand  four  hundred  feet, 
and  laden  with  glaciers  that  are  terribly  rough 
ened  and  interrupted  by  crevasses  and  ice- 
cliffs.  Only  good  climbers  should  attempt  to 
gain  the  summit,  led  by  a  guide  of  proved 
nerve  and  endurance.  A  good  trail  has  been 
cut  through  the  woods  to  the  base  of  the 
mountain  on  the  north;  but  the  summit  of 
the  mountain  never  has  been  reached  from 
this  side,  though  many  brave  attempts  have 
been  made  upon  it. 

1  A  careful  re-determination  of  the  height  of  Rainier, 
made  by  Professor  A.  G.  McAdie  in  1905,  gave  an  altitude 
of  13,394  feet.  The  Standard  Dictionary  wrongly  describes 
it  as  "the  highest  peak  (13,363  feet)  within  the  United 
States."  The  United  States  Baedeker  and  railroad  literature 
overstate  its  altitude  by  more  than  a  hundred  feet.  [Editor.] 

261 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Last  summer  I  gained  the  summit  from  the 
south  side,  in  a  day  and  a  half  from  the  tim 
ber-line,  without  encountering  any  desperate 
obstacles  that  could  not  in  some  way  be  passed 
in  good  weather.  I  was  accompanied  by  Keith, 
the  artist,  Professor  Ingraham,  and  five  am 
bitious  young  climbers  from  Seattle.  We  were 
led  by  the  veteran  mountaineer  and  guide 
Van  Trump,  of  Yelm,  who  many  years  before 
guided   General    Stevens   in   his   memorable 
ascent,  and  later  Mr.  Bailey,  of  Oakland.  With 
a  cumbersome  abundance  of  campstools  and 
blankets  we  set  out  from  Seattle,  traveling 
by  rail  as  far  as  Yelm  Prairie,  on  the  Tacoma 
and  Oregon  road.  Here  we  made  our  first  camp 
and  arranged  with  Mr.  Longmire,  a  farmer 
in  the  neighborhood,  for  pack  and  saddle  ani 
mals.   The  noble  King  Mountain  was  in  full 
view  from  here,  glorifying  the  bright,  sunny 
day  with  his  presence,  rising  in  godlike  ma 
jesty  over  the  woods,  with  the  magnificent 
prairie  as  a  foreground.   The  distance  to  the 
mountain  from  Yelm  in  a  straight  line  is  per 
haps  fifty  miles;  but  by  the  mule  and  yellow- 
jacket  trail  we  had  to  follow  it  is  a  hundred 
miles.   For,  notwithstanding  a  portion  of  this 
trail  runs  in  the  air,  where  the  wasps  work 
hardest,  it  is  far  from  being  an  air-line  as  com 
monly  understood. 

262 


AN  ASCENT  OF  MOUNT  RAINIER 

By  night  of  the  third  day  we  reached  the 
Soda  Springs  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Nis- 
qually,  which  goes  roaring  by,  gray  with  mud, 
gravel,  and  boulders  from  the  caves  of  the 
glaciers  of  Rainier,  now  close  at  hand.  The 
distance  from  the  Soda  Springs  to  the  Camp 
of  the  Clouds  is  about  ten  miles.  The  first 
part  of  the  way  lies  up  the  Nisqually  Canon, 
the  bottom  of  which  is  flat  in  some  places  and 
the  walls  very  high  and  precipitous,  like  those 
of  the  Yosemite  Valley.  The  upper  part  of 
the  canon  is  still  occupied  by  one  of  the  Nis 
qually  glaciers,  from  which  this  branch  of  the 
river  draws  its  source,  issuing  from  a  cave  in 
the  gray,  rock-strewn  snout.  About  a  mile 
below  the  glacier  we  had  to  ford  the  river, 
which  caused  some  anxiety,  for  the  current 
is  very  rapid  and  carried  forward  large  boul 
ders  as  well  as  lighter  material,  while  its  savage 
roar  is  bewildering. 

At  this  point  we  left  the  canon,  climbing 
out  of  it  by  a  steep  zigzag  up  the  old  lateral 
moraine  of  the  glacier,  which  was  deposited 
when  the  present  glacier  flowed  past  at  this 
height,  and  is  about  eight  hundred  feet  high. 
It  is  now  covered  with  a  superb  growth  of 
Picea  amabilis; l  so  also  is  the  corresponding 

1  Doubtless  the  red  silver  fir,  now  classified  as  Abies  ama 
bilis.  [Editor.] 

263 


STEEP  TRAILS 

portion  of  the  right  lateral.  From  the  top  of 
the  moraine,  still  ascending,  we  passed  for  a 
mile  or  two  through  a  forest  of  mixed  growth, 
mainly  silver  fir,  Patton  spruce,  and  mountain 
pine,  and  then  came  to  the  charming  park 
region,  at  an  elevation  of  about  five  thousand 
feet  above  sea-level.  Here  the  vast  continu 
ous  woods  at  length  begin  to  give  way  under 
the  dominion  of  climate,  though  still  at  this 
height  retaining  their  beauty  and  giving  no 
sign  of  stress  of  storm,  sweeping  upward  in 
belts  of  varying  width,  composed  mainly  of  one 
species  of  fir,  sharp  and  spiry  in  form,  leav 
ing  smooth,  spacious  parks,  with  here  and 
there  separate  groups  of  trees  standing  out  in 
the  midst  of  the  openings  like  islands  in  a  lake. 
Every  one  of  these  parks,  great  and  small,  is 
a  garden  filled  knee-deep  with  fresh,  lovely 
flowers  of  every  hue,  the  most  luxuriant  and 
the  most  extravagantly  beautiful  of  all  the 
alpine  gardens  I  ever  beheld  in  all  my  moun 
tain-top  wanderings. 

We  arrived  at  the  Cloud  Camp  at  noon,  but 
no  clouds  were  in  sight,  save  a  few  gauzy 
ornamental  wreaths  adrift  in  the  sunshine. 
Out  of  the  forest  at  last  there  stood  the  moun 
tain,  wholly  unveiled,  awful  in  bulk  and  ma 
jesty,  filling  all  the  view  like  a  separate,  new 
born  world,  yet  withal  so  fine  and  so  beautiful 

264 


AN  ASCENT  OF  MOUNT  RAINIER 

it  might  well  fire  the  dullest  observer  to  des 
perate  enthusiasm.  Long  we  gazed  in  silent 
admiration,  buried  in  tall  daisies  and  anem 
ones  by  the  side  of  a  snowbank.  Higher  we 
could  not  go  with  the  animals  and  find  food 
for  them  and  wood  for  our  own  camp-fires, 
for  just  beyond  this  lies  the  region  of  ice, 
with  only  here  and  there  an  open  spot  on 
the  ridges  in  the  midst  of  the  ice,  with  dwarf 
alpine  plants,  such  as  saxifrages  and  drabas, 
which  reach  far  up  between  the  glaciers,  and 
low  mats  of  the  beautiful  bryanthus,  while 
back  of  us  were  the  gardens  and  abundance 
of  everything  that  heart  could  wish.  Here 
we  lay  all  the  afternoon,  considering  the  lilies 
and  the  lines  of  the  mountains  with  reference 
to  a  way  to  the  summit. 

At  noon  next  day  we  left  camp  and  began 
our  long  climb.  We  were  in  light  marching 
order,  save  one  who  pluckily  determined  to 
carry  his  camera  to  the  summit.  At  night, 
after  a  long  easy  climb  over  wide  and  smooth 
fields  of  ice,  we  reached  a  narrow  ridge,  at  an 
elevation  of  about  ten  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea,  on  the  divide  between  the  glaciers  of 
the  Nisqually  and  the  Cowlitz.  Here  we  lay  as 
best  we  could,  waiting  for  another  day,  with 
out  fire  of  course,  as  we  were  now  many  miles 
beyond  the  timber-line  and  without  much  to 

265 


STEEP  TRAILS 

cover  us.  After  eating  a  little  hardtack,  each 
of  us  leveled  a  spot  to  lie  on  among  lava-blocks 
and  cinders.  The  night  was  cold,  and  the 
wind  coming  down  upon  us  in  stormy  surges 
drove  gritty  ashes  and  fragments  of  pumice 
about  our  ears  while  chilling  to  the  bone.  Very 
short  and  shallow  was  our  sleep  that  night; 
but  day  dawned  at  last,  early  rising  was  easy, 
and  there  was  nothing  about  breakfast  to 
cause  any  delay.  About  four  o'clock  we  were 
off,  and  climbing  began  in  earnest.  We  fol 
lowed  up  the  ridge  on  which  we  had  spent  the 
night,  now  along  its  crest,  now  on  either  side, 
or  on  the  ice  leaning  against  it,  until  we  came 
to  where  it  becomes  massive  and  precipitous. 
Then  we  were  compelled  to  crawl  along  a 
seam  or  narrow  shelf,  on  its  face,  which  we 
traced  to  its  termination  in  the  base  of  the 
great  ice-cap.  From  this  point  all  the  climb 
ing  was  over  ice,  which  was  here  desperately 
steep  but  fortunately  was  at  the  same  time 
carved  into  innumerable  spikes  and  pillars 
which  afforded  good  footholds,  and  we  crawled 
cautiously  on,  warm  with  ambition  and  exer 
cise. 

At  length,  after  gaining  the  upper  extreme 
of  our  guiding  ridge,  we  found  a  good  place 
to  rest  and  prepare  ourselves  to  scale  the 
dangerous  upper  curves  of  the  dome.  The 

266 


AN  ASCENT  OF  MOUNT  RAINIER 

surface  almost  everywhere  was  bare,  hard, 
snowless  ice,  extremely  slippery;  and,  though 
smooth  in  general,  it  was  interrupted  by  a 
network  of  yawning  crevasses,  outspread  like 
lines  of  defense  against  any  attempt  to  win 
the  summit.  Here  every  one  of  the  party  took 
off  his  shoes  and  drove  stout  steel  caulks  about 
half  an  inch  long  into  them,  having  brought 
tools  along  for  the  purpose,  and  not  having 
made  use  of  them  until  now  so  that  the  points 
might  not  get  dulled  on  the  rocks  ere  the 
smooth,  dangerous  ice  was  reached.  Besides 
being  well  shod  each  carried  an  alpenstock, 
and  for  special  difficulties  we  had  a  hundred 
feet  of  rope  and  an  axe. 

Thus  prepared,  we  stepped  forth  afresh, 
slowly  groping  our  way  through  tangled  lines 
of  crevasses,  crossing  on  snow  bridges  here  and 
there  after  cautiously  testing  them,  jumping 
at  narrow  places,  or  crawling  around  the  ends 
of  the  largest,  bracing  well  at  every  point  with 
our  alpenstocks  and  setting  our  spiked  shoes 
squarely  down  on  the  dangerous  slopes.  It  was 
nerve-trying  work,  most  of  it,  but  we  made 
good  speed  nevertheless,  and  by  noon  all  stood 
together  on  the  utmost  summit,  save  one  who, 
his  strength  failing  for  a  time,  came  up  later. 

We  remained  on  the  summit  nearly  two 
hours,  looking  about  us  at  the  vast  maplike 

267 


STEEP  TRAILS 

views,  comprehending  hundreds  of  miles  of 
the  Cascade  Range,  with  their  black  intermin 
able  forests  and  white  volcanic  cones  in  glori 
ous  array  reaching  far  into  Oregon;  the  Sound 
regjon  also,  and  the  great  plains  of  eastern 
Washington,  hazy  and  vague  in  the  distance. 
Clouds  began  to  gather.  Soon  of  all  the  land 
only  the  summits  of  the  mountains,  St.  Helen's, 
Adams,  and  Hood,  were  left  in  sight,  forming 
islands  in  the  sky.  We  found  two  well-formed 
and  well-preserved  craters  on  the  summit, 
lying  close  together  like  two  plates  on  a  table 
with  their  rims  touching.  The  highest  point 
of  the  mountain  is  located  between  the  cra 
ters,  where  their  edges  come  in  contact.  Sul 
phurous  fumes  and  steam  issue  from  several 
vents,  giving  out  a  sickening  smell  that  can 
be  detected  at  a  considerable  distance.  The 
unwasted  condition  of  these  craters,  and,  in 
deed,  to  a  great  extent,  of  the  entire  mountain, 
would  tend  to  show  that  Rainier  is  still  a  com 
paratively  young  mountain.  With  the  excep 
tion  of  the  projecting  lips  of  the  craters  and 
the  top  of  a  subordinate  summit  a  short 
distance  to  the  northward,  the  mountain  is 
solidly  capped  with  ice  all  around;  and  it  is 
this  ice-cap  which  forms  the  grand  central 
fountain  whence  all  the  twenty  glaciers  of 
Rainier  flow,  radiating  in  every  direction. 

268 


AN  ASCENT  OF  MOUNT  RAINIER 

The  descent  was  accomplished  without  dis 
aster,  though  several  of  the  party  had  narrow 
escapes.  One  slipped  and  fell,  and  as  he  shot 
past  me  seemed  to  be  going  to  certain  death. 
So  steep  was  the  ice-slope  no  one  could  move 
to  help  him,  but  fortunately,  keeping  his  pres 
ence  of  mind,  he  threw  himself  on  his  face 
and  digging  his  alpenstock  into  the  ice,  grad 
ually  retarded  his  motion  until  he  came  to 
rest.  Another  broke  through  a  slim  bridge 
over  a  crevasse,  but  his  momentum  at  the 
time  carried  him  against  the  lower  edge  and 
only  his  alpenstock  was  lost  in  the  abyss. 
Thus  crippled  by  the  loss  of  his  staff,  we  had 
to  lower  him  the  rest  of  the  way  down  the 
dome  by  means  of  the  rope  we  carried.  Fall 
ing  rocks  from  the  upper  precipitous  part  of 
the  ridge  were  also  a  source  of  danger,  as  they 
came  whizzing  past  in  successive  volleys;  but 
none  told  on  us,  and  when  we  at  length  gained 
the  gentle  slopes  of  the  lower  ice-fields,  we  ran 
and  slid  at  our  ease,  making  fast,  glad  time, 
all  care  and  danger  past,  and  arrived  at  our 
beloved  Cloud  Camp  before  sundown. 

We  were  rather  weak  from  want  of  nourish 
ment,  and  some  suffered  from  sunburn,  not 
withstanding  the  partial  protection  of  glasses 
and  veils;  otherwise,  all  were  unscathed  and 
well.  The  view  we  enjoyed  from  the  summit 

269 


STEEP  TRAILS 

could  hardly  be  surpassed  in  sublimity  and 
grandeur;  but  one  feels  far  from  home  so  high 
in  the  sky,  so  much  so  that  one  is  inclined 
to  guess  that,  apart  from  the  acquisition  of 
knowledge  and  the  exhilaration  of  climbing, 
more  pleasure  is  to  be  found  at  the  foot  of 
mountains  than  on  their  frozen  tops.  Doubly 
happy,  however,  is  the  man  to  whom  lofty 
mountain-tops  are  within  reach,  for  the  lights 
that  shine  there  illumine  all  that  lies  below. 


XXI 

THE  PHYSICAL  AND   CLIMATIC  CHARACTERISTICS 
OF  OREGON 

OREGON  is  a  large,  rich,  compact  section  of 
the  west  side  of  the  continent,  containing 
nearly  a  hundred  thousand  square  miles  of 
deep,  wet  evergreen  woods,  fertile  valleys, 
icy  mountains,  and  high,  rolling,  wind-swept 
plains,  watered  by  the  majestic  Columbia 
River  and  its  countless  branches.  It  is  bounded 
on  the  north  by  Washington,  on  the  east  by 
Idaho,  on  the  south  by  California  and  Nevada, 
and  on  the  west  by  the  Pacific  Ocean.  It  is 
a  grand,  hearty,  wholesome,  foodful  wilder 
ness  and,  like  Washington,  once  a  part  of  the 
Oregon  Territory,  abounds  in  bold,  far-reach 
ing  contrasts  as  to  scenery,  climate,  soil,  and 
productions.  Side  by  side  there  is  drouth  on 
a  grand  scale  and  overflowing  moisture;  flinty, 
sharply  cut  lava-beds,  gloomy  and  forbidding, 
and  smooth,  flowery  lawns;  cool  bogs,  ex 
quisitely  plushy  and  soft,  overshadowed  by 
jagged  crags  barren  as  icebergs;  forests  seem 
ingly  boundless  and  plains  with  no  tree  in 
sight;  presenting  a  wide  range  of  conditions, 
but  as  a  whole  favorable  to  industry.  Natural 

271 


STEEP  TRAILS 

wealth  of  an  available  kind  abounds  nearly 
everywhere,  inviting  the  farmer,  the  stock- 
raiser,  the  lumberman,  the  fisherman,  the 
manufacturer,  and  the  miner,  as  well  as  the 
free  walker  in  search  of  knowledge  and  wild- 
ness.  The  scenery  is  mostly  of  a  comfortable, 
assuring  kind,  grand  and  inspiring  without 
too  much  of  that  dreadful  overpowering  sub 
limity  and  exuberance  which  tend  to  discour 
age  effort  and  cast  people  into  inaction  and 
superstition. 

Ever  since  Oregon  was  first  heard  of  in  the 
romantic,  adventurous,  hunting,  trapping  Wild 
West  days,  it  seems  to  have  been  regarded 
as  the  most  attractive  and  promising  of  all 
the  Pacific  countries  for  farmers.  While  yet 
the  whole  region  as  well  as  the  way  to  it  was 
wild,  ere  a  single  road  or  bridge  was  built, 
undaunted  by  the  trackless  thousand-mile 
distances  and  scalping,  cattle-stealing  Indians, 
long  trains  of  covered  wagons  began  to  crawl 
wearily  westward,  crossing  how  many  plains, 
rivers,  ridges,  and  mountains,  fighting  the 
painted  savages  and  weariness  and  famine. 
Setting  out  from  the  frontier  of  the  old  West 
in  the  spring  as  soon  as  the  grass  would 
support  their  cattle,  they  pushed  on  up  the 
Platte,  making  haste  slowly,  however,  that 
they  might  not  be  caught  in  the  storms  of  win- 

272 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON     , 

ter  ere  they  reached  the  promised  land.  They 
crossed  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Fort  Hall; 
thence  followed  down  the  Snake  River  for 
three  or  four  hundred  miles,  their  cattle  limp 
ing  and  failing  on  the  rough  lava  plains;  swim 
ming  the  streams  too  deep  to  be  forded,  mak 
ing  boats  out  of  wagon-boxes  for  the  women 
and  children  and  goods,  or  where  trees  could 
be  had,  lashing  together  logs  for  rafts.  Thence, 
crossing  the  Blue  Mountains  and  the  plains 
of  the  Columbia,  they  followed  the  river  to 
the  Dalles.  Here  winter  would  be  upon  them, 
and  before  a  wagon-road  was  built  across  the 
Cascade  Mountains  the  toil-worn  emigrants 
would  be  compelled  to  leave  their  cattle  and 
wagons  until  the  following  summer,  and,  in  the 
mean  time,  with  the  assistance  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  make  their  way  to  the  Willam 
ette  Valley  on  the  river  with  rafts  and  boats. 

How  strange  and  remote  these  trying  times 
have  already  become!  They  are  now  dim  as 
if  a  thousand  years  had  passed  over  them. 
Steamships  and  locomotives  with  magical 
influence  have  well-nigh  abolished  the  old  dis 
tances  and  dangers,  and  brought  forward  the 
New  West  into  near  and  familiar  companion 
ship  with  the  rest  of  the  world. 

Purely  wild  for  unnumbered  centuries,  a 
paradise  of  oily,  salmon-fed  Indians,  Oregon 

273 


STEEP  TRAILS 

is  now  roughly  settled  in  part  and  surveyed, 
its  rivers  and  mountain-ranges,  lakes,  valleys, 
and  plains  have  been  traced  and  mapped  in 
a  general  way,  civilization  is  beginning  to  take 
root,  towns  are  springing  up  and  flourishing 
vigorously  like  a  crop  adapted  to  the  soil,  and 
the  whole  kindly  wilderness  lies  invitingly 
near  with  all  its  wealth  open  and  ripe  for  use. 

In  sailing  along  the  Oregon  coast  one  sees 
but  few  more  signs  of  human  occupation  than 
did  Juan  de  Fuca  three  centuries  ago.  The 
shore  bluffs  rise  abruptly  from  the  waves, 
forming  a  wall  apparently  unbroken,  though 
many  short  rivers  from  the  coast  range  of 
mountains  and  two  from  the  interior  have 
made  narrow  openings  on  their  way  to  the 
sea.  At  the  mouths  of  these  rivers  good  har 
bors  have  been  discovered  for  coasting  ves 
sels,  which  are  of  great  importance  to  the 
lumbermen,  dairymen,  and  farmers  of  the  coast 
region.  But  little  or  nothing  of  these  appear 
in  general  views,  only  a  simple  gray  wall  nearly 
straight,  green  along  the  top,  and  the  forest 
stretching  back  into  the  mountains  as  far  as 
the  eye  can  reach. 

Going  ashore,  we  find  few  long  reaches  of 
sand  where  one  may  saunter,  or  meadows, 
save  the  brown  and  purple  meadows  of  the 
sea,  overgrown  with  slippery  kelp,  swashed  and 

274 


BK-fl 


r 


111 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON 

swirled  in  the  restless  breakers.  The  abrupt 
ness  of  the  shore  allows  the  massive  waves 
that  have  come  from  far  over  the  broad  Paci 
fic  to  get  close  to  the  bluffs  ere  they  break,  and 
the  thundering  shock  shakes  the  rocks  to 
their  foundations.  No  calm  comes  to  these 
shores.  Even  in  the  finest  weather,  when  the 
ships  off  shore  are  becalmed  and  their  sails 
hang  loose  against  the  mast,  there  is  always  a 
wreath  of  foam  at  the  base  of  these  bluffs. 
The  breakers  are  ever  in  bloom  and  crystal 
brine  is  ever  in  the  air. 

A  scramble  along  the  Oregon  sea-bluffs 
proves  as  richly  exciting  to  lovers  of  wild 
beauty  as  heart  could  wish.  Here  are  three 
hundred  miles  of  pictures  of  rock  and  water  in 
black  and  white,  or  gray  and  white,  with  more 
or  less  of  green  and  yellow,  purple  and  blue. 
The  rocks,  glistening  in  sunshine  and  foam, 
are  never  wholly  dry  —  many  of  them  marvels 
of  wave-sculpture  and  most  imposing  in  bulk 
and  bearing,  standing  boldly  forward,  monu 
ments  of  a  thousand  storms,  types  of  perma 
nence,  holding  the  homes  and  places  of  refuge 
of  multitudes  of  seafaring  animals  hi  their 
keeping,  yet  ever  wasting  away.  How  grand 
the  songs  of  the  waves  about  them,  every  wave 
a  fine,  hearty  storm  in  itself,  taking  its  rise 
on  the  breezy  plains  of  the  sea,  perhaps  thou- 

275 


STEEP  TRAILS 

sands  of  miles  away,  traveling  with  majestic, 
slow-heaving  deliberation,  reaching  the  end 
of  its  journey,  striking  its  blow,  bursting  into 
a  mass  of  white  and  pink  bloom,  then  falling 
spent  and  withered  to  give  place  to  the  next 
in  the  endless  procession,  thus  keeping  up  the 
glorious  show  and  glorious  song  through  all 
times  and  seasons  forever! 

Terribly  impressive  as  is  this  cliff  and  wave 
scenery  when  the  skies  are  bright  and  kindly 
sunshine  makes  rainbows  in  the  spray,  it  is 
doubly  so  in  dark,  stormy  nights,  when, 
crouching  in  some  hollow  on  the  top  of  some 
jutting  headland,  we  may  gaze-  and  listen  un 
disturbed  in  the  heart  of  it.  Perhaps  now  and 
then  we  may  dimly  see  the  tops  of  the  high 
est  breakers,  looking  ghostly  in  the  gloom; 
but  when  the  water  happens  to  be  phosphores 
cent,  as  it  oftentimes  is,  then  both  the  sea 
and  the  rocks  are  visible,  and  the  wild,  exult 
ing,  up-dashing  spray  burns,  every  particle  of 
it,  and  is  combined  into  one  glowing  mass  of 
white  fire;  while  back  hi  the  woods  and  along 
the  bluffs  and  crags  of  the  shore  the  storm-wind 
roars,  and  the  rain-floods,  gathering  strength 
and  coming  from  far  and  near,  rush  wildly 
down  every  gulch  to  the  sea,  as  if  eager  to  join 
the  waves  in  their  grand,  savage  harmony; 
deep  calling  unto  deep  in  the  heart  of  the 

276 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON 

great,  dark  night,  making  a  sight  and  a  song 
unspeakably  sublime  and  glorious. 

In  the  pleasant  weather  of  summer,  after 
the  rainy  season  is  past  and  only  occasional 
refreshing  showers  fall,  washing  the  sky  and 
bringing  out  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers  and 
the  evergreens,  then  one  may  enjoy  a  fine, 
free  walk  all  the  way  across  the  State  from 
the  sea  to  the  eastern  boundary  on  the  Snake 
River.  Many  a  beautiful  stream  we  should 
cross  in  such  a  walk,  singing  through  forest 
and  meadow  and  deep  rocky  gorge,  and  many 
a  broad  prairie  and  plain,  mountain  and  val 
ley,  wild  garden  and  desert,  presenting  land 
scape  beauty  on  a  grand  scale  and  in  a  thou 
sand  forms,  and  new  lessons  without  number, 
delightful  to  learn.  Oregon  has  three  moun 
tain-ranges  which  run  nearly  parallel  with  the 
coast,  the  most  influential  of  which,  in  every 
way,  is  the  Cascade  Range.  It  is  about  six 
thousand  to  seven  thousand  feet  in  average 
height,  and  divides  the  State  into  two  main 
sections  called  Eastern  and  Western  Oregon, 
corresponding  with  the  main  divisions  of 
Washington;  while  these  are  again  divided, 
but  less  perfectly,  by  the  Blue  Mountains  and 
the  Coast  Range.  The  eastern  section  is  about 
two  hundred  and  thirty  miles  wide,  and  is 
made  up  in  great  part  of  the  treeless  plains 

277 


STEEP  TRAILS 

of  the  Columbia,  which  are  green  and  flowery 
in  spring,  but  gray,  dusty,  hot,  and  forbidding 
in  summer.  Considerable  areas,  however,  on 
these  plains,  as  well  as  some  of  the  valleys 
countersunk  below  the  general  surface  along 
the  banks  of  the  streams,  have  proved  fertile 
and  produce  large  crops  of  wheat,  barley,  hay, 
and  other  products. 

In  general  views  the  western  section  seems 
to  be  covered  with  one  vast,  evenly  planted 
forest,  with  the  exception  of  the  few  snow- 
clad  peaks  of  the  Cascade  Range,  these  peaks 
being  the  only  points  in  the  landscape  that 
rise  above  the  timber-line.  Nevertheless,  em 
bosomed  in  this  forest  and  lying  in  the  great 
trough  between  the  Cascades  and  coast  moun 
tains,  there  are  some  of  the  best  bread-bearing 
valleys  to  be  found  in  the  world.  The  largest 
of  these  are  the  Willamette,  Umpqua,  and 
Rogue  River  Valleys.  Inasmuch  as  a  consid 
erable  portion  of  these  main  valleys  was  tree 
less,  or  nearly  so,  as  well  as  surpassingly  fer 
tile,  they  were  the  first  to  attract  settlers;  and 
the  Willamette,  being  at  once  the  largest  and 
nearest  to  tide  water,  was  settled  first  of  all, 
and  now  contains  the  greater  portion  of  the 
population  and  wealth  of  the  State. 

The  climate  of  this  section,  like  the  corre 
sponding  portion  of  Washington,  is  rather 

278 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON 

damp  and  sloppy  throughout  the  winter 
months,  but  the  summers  are  bright,  ripening 
the  wheat  and  allowing  it  to  be  garnered  in 
good  condition.  Taken  as  a  whole,  the  weather 
is  bland  and  kindly,  and  like  the  forest  trees 
the  crops  and  cattle  grow  plump  and  sound 
in  it.  So  also  do  the  people;  children  ripen  well 
and  grow  up  with  limbs  of  good  size  and  fiber 
and,  unless  overworked  in  the  woods,  live  to  a 
good  old  age,  hale  and  hearty. 

But,  like  every  other  happy  valley  in  the 
world,  the  sunshine  of  this  one  is  not  without 
its  shadows.  Malarial  fevers  are  not  unknown 
in  some  places,  and  untimely  frosts  and  rains 
may  at  long  intervals  in  some  measure  dis 
appoint  the  hopes  of  the  husbandman.  Many 
a  tale,  good-natured  or  otherwise,  is  told  con 
cerning  the  overflowing  abundance  of  the 
Oregon  rains.  Once  an  English  traveler,  as  the 
story  goes,  went  to  a  store  to  make  some  pur 
chases  and  on  leaving  found  that  rain  was  fall 
ing;  therefore,  not  liking  to  get  wet,  he  stepped 
back  to  wait  till  the  shower  was  over.  Seeing 
no  signs  of  clearing,  he  soon  became  impatient 
and  inquired  of  the  storekeeper  how  long  he 
thought  the  shower  would  be  likely  to  last. 
Going  to  the  door  and  looking  wisely  into  the 
gray  sky  and  noting  the  direction  of  the  wind, 
the  latter  replied  that  he  thought  the  shower 

279 


STEEP  TRAILS 

would  probably  last  about  six  months,  an 
opinion  that  of  course  disgusted  the  fault 
finding  Briton  with  the  "blawsted  country," 
though  in  fact  it  is  but  little  if  at  all  wetter  or 
cloudier  than  his  own. 

No  climate  seems  the  best  for  everybody. 
Many  there  be  who  waste  their  lives  in  a  vain 
search  for  weather  with  which  no  fault  may 
be  found,  keeping  themselves  and  their  fami 
lies  in  constant  motion,  like  floating  seaweeds 
that  never  strike  root,  yielding  compliance  to 
every  current  of  news  concerning  countries 
yet  untried,  believing  that  everywhere,  any 
where,  the  sky  is  fairer  and  the  grass  grows 
greener  than  where  they  happen  to  be.  Be 
fore  the  Oregon  and  California  railroad  was 
built,  the  overland  journey  between  these 
States  across  the  Siskiyou  Mountains  in  the 
old-fashioned  emigrant  wagon  was  a  long  and 
tedious  one.  Nevertheless,  every  season  dis 
satisfied  climate-seekers,  too  wet  and  too  dry, 
might  be  seen  plodding  along  through  the  dust 
in  the  old  "  '49  style,"  making  their  way  one 
half  of  them  from  California  to  Oregon,  the 
other  half  from  Oregon  to  California.  The 
beautiful  Sisson  meadows  at  the  base  of  Mount 
Shasta  were  a  favorite  halfway  resting-place, 
where  the  weary  cattle  were  turned  out  for  a 
few  days  to  gather  strength  for  better  climates, 

280 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON 

and  it  was  curious  to  hear  those  perpetual 
pioneers  comparing  notes  and  seeking  infor 
mation  around  the  camp-fires. 

"Where  are  you  from?"  some  Oregonian 
would  ask. 

"The  Joaquin." 

"It's  dry  there,  ain't  it?" 

"Well,  I  should  say  so.  No  rain  at  all  in 
summer  and  none  to  speak  of  in  winter,  and 
I'm  dried  out.  I  just  told  my  wife  I  was  on 
the  move  again,  and  I  'm  going  to  keep  moving 
till  I  come  to  a  country  where  it  rains  once  in 
a  while,  like  it  does  in  every  reg'lar  white  man's 
country;  and  that,  I  guess,  will  be  Oregon,  if 
the  news  be  true." 

"Yes,  neighbor,  you's  heading  in  the  right 
direction  for  rain,"  the  Oregonian  would  say. 
"Keep  right  on  to  Yamhill  and  you'll  soon 
be  damp  enough.  It  rains  there  more  than 
twelve  months  in  the  year;  at  least,  no  saying 
but  it  will.  I've  just  come  from  there,  plumb 
drowned  out,  and  I  told  my  wife  to  jump  into 
the  wagon  and  we  would  start  out  and  see  if 
we  could  n't  find  a  dry  day  somewhere.  Last 
fall  the  hay  was  out  and  the  wood  was  out, 
and  the  cabin  leaked,  and  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  try  California  the  first  chance." 

"Well,  if  you  be  a  horned  toad  or  coyote," 
the  seeker  of  moisture  would  reply,  "then 

281 


STEEP  TRAILS 

maybe  you  can  stand  it.  Just  keep  right  on 
by  the  Alabama  Settlement  to  Tulare  and 
you  can  have  my  place  on  Big  Dry  Creek  and 
welcome.  You'll  be  drowned  there  mighty 
seldom.  The  wagon  spokes  and  tires  will  rat 
tle  and  tell  you  when  you  come  to  it." 

"All  right,  partner,  we'll  swap  square,  you 
can  have  mine  in  Yamhill  and  the  rain  thrown 
in.  Last  August  a  painter  sharp  came  along 
one  day  wanting  to  know  the  way  to  Willam 
ette  Falls,  and  I  told  him:  'Young  man,  just 
wait  a  little  and  you'll  find  falls  enough  with 
out  going  to  Oregon  City  after  them.  The 
whole  dog-gone  Noah's  flood  of  a  country  will 
be  a  fall  and  melt  and  float  away  some  day.'  " 
And  more  to  the  same  effect. 

But  no  one  need  leave  Oregon  in  search  of 
fair  weather.  The  wheat  and  cattle  region  of 
eastern  Oregon  and  Washington  on  the  upper 
Columbia  plains  is  dry  enough  and  dusty 
enough  more  than  half  the  year.  The  truth 
is,  most  of  these  wanderers  enjoy  the  freedom 
of  gypsy  life  and  seek  not  homes  but  camps. 
Having  crossed  the  plains  and  reached  the 
ocean,  they  can  find  no  farther  west  within 
reach  of  wagons,  and  are  therefore  compelled 
now  to  go  north  and  south  between  Mexico 
and  Alaska,  always  glad  to  find  an  excuse  for 
moving,  stopping  a  few  months  or  weeks  here 

282 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON 

and  there,  the  time  being  measured  by  the 
size  of  the  camp-meadow,  conditions  of  the 
grass,  game,  and  other  indications.  Even 
their  so-called  settlements  of  a  year  or  two, 
when  they  take  up  land  and  build  cabins,  are 
only  another  kind  of  camp,  in  no  common 
sense  homes.  Never  a  tree  is  planted,  nor  do 
they  plant  themselves,  but  like  good  soldiers 
in  time  of  war  are  ever  ready  to  march.  Their 
journey  of  life  is  indeed  a  journey  with  very 
matter-of-fact  thorns  in  the  way,  though  not 
wholly  wanting  in  compensation. 

One  of  the  most  influential  of  the  motives 
that  brought  the  early  settlers  to  these  shores, 
apart  from  that  natural  instinct  to  scatter  and 
multiply  which  urges  even  sober  salmon  to 
climb  the  Rocky  Mountains,  was  their  de 
sire  to  find  a  country  at  once  fertile  and  win- 
terless,  where  their  flocks  and  herds  could 
find  pasture  all  the  year,  thus  doing  away  with 
the  long  and  tiresome  period  of  haying  and 
feeding  necessary  in  the  eastern  and  old  west 
ern  States  and  Territories.  Cheap  land  and 
good  land  there  was  in  abundance  in  Kansas, 
Nebraska,  Minnesota,  and  Iowa;  but  there  the 
labor  of  providing  for  animals  of  the  farm 
was  very  great,  and  much  of  that  labor  was 
crowded  together  into  a  few  summer  months, 
while  to  keep  cool  in  summers  and  warm  in 

283 


STEEP  TRAILS 

the   icy  winters  was  well-nigh   impossible  to 
poor  farmers. 

Along  the  coast  and  throughout  the  greater 
part  of  western  Oregon  in  general,  snow  sel 
dom  falls  on  the  lowlands  to  a  greater  depth 
than  a  few  inches,  and  never  lies  long.  Grass 
is  green  all  winter.  The  average  tempera 
ture  for  the  year  in  the  Willamette  Valley  is 
about  52°,  the  highest  and  lowest  being  about 
100°  and  20°,  though  occasionally  a  much 
lower  temperature  is  reached. 

The  average  rainfall  is  about  fifty  or  fifty- 
five  inches  in  the  Willamette  Valley,  and  along 
the  coast  seventy-five  inches,  or  even  more 
at  some  points  —  figures  that  bring  many  a 
dreary  night  and  day  to  mind,  however  fine 
the  effect  on  the  great  evergreen  woods  and 
the  fields  of  the  farmers.  The  rainy  season 
begins  in  September  or  October  and  lasts  until 
April  or  May.  Then  the  whole  country  is  sol 
emnly  soaked  and  poulticed  with  the  gray, 
streaming  clouds  and  fogs,  night  and  day,  with 
marvelous  constancy.  Towards  the  beginning 
and  end  of  the  season  a  good  many  bright  days 
occur  to  break  the  pouring  gloom,  but  whole 
months  of  rain,  continuous,  or  nearly  so,  are 
not  at  all  rare.  Astronomers  beneath  these 
Oregon  skies  would  have  a  dull  time  of  it.  Of 
all  the  year  only  about  one  fourth  of  the  days 

284 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON 

are  clear,  while  three  fourths  have  more  or  less 
of  fogs,  clouds,  or  rain. 

The  fogs  occur  mostly  in  the  fall  and  spring. 
They  are  grand,  far-reaching  affairs  of  two 
kinds,  the  black  and  the  white,  some  of  the  lat 
ter  being  very  beautiful,  and  the  infinite  deli 
cacy  and  tenderness  of  their  touch  as  they  linger 
to  caress  the  tall  evergreens  is  most  exquisite. 
On  farms  and  highways  and  in  streets  of  towns, 
where  work  has  to  be  done,  there  is  nothing 
picturesque  or  attractive  in  any  obvious  way 
about  the  gray,  serious-faced  rain-storms. 
Mud  abounds.  The  rain  seems  dismal  and 
heedless  and  gets  in  everybody's  way.  Every 
face  is  turned  from  it,  and  it  has  but  few 
friends  who  recognize  its  boundless  beneficence. 
But  back  in  the  untrodden  woods  where  no 
axe  has  been  lifted,  where  a  deep,  rich  carpet 
of  brown  and  golden  mosses  covers  all  the 
ground  like  a  garment,  pressing  warmly  about 
the  feet  of  the  trees  and  rising  in  thick  folds 
softly  and  kindly  over  every  fallen  trunk, 
leaving  no  spot  naked  or  uncared-for,  there  the 
rain  is  welcomed,  and  every  drop  that  falls 
finds  a  place  and  use  as  sweet  and  pure  as  it 
self.  An  excursion  into  the  woods  when  the 
rain  harvest  is  at  its  height  is  a  noble  pleasure, 
and  may  be  safely  enjoyed  at  small  expense, 
though  very  few  care  to  seek  it.  Shelter  is 

285 


STEEP  TRAILS 

easily  found  beneath  the  great  trees  in  some 
hollow  out  of  the  wind,  and  one  need  carry 
but  little  provision,  none  at  all  of  a  kind  that 
a  wetting  would  spoil.  The  colors  of  the  woods 
are  then  at  their  best,  and  the  mighty  hosts 
of  the  forest,  every  needle  tingling  in  the  blast, 
wave  and  sing  in  glorious  harmony. 

"  T  were  worth  ten  years  of  peaceful  life,  one  glance  at 
this  array." 

The  snow  that  falls  in  the  lowland  woods  is 
usually  soft,  and  makes  a  fine  show  coming 
through  the  trees  in  large,  feathery  tufts, 
loading  the  branches  of  the  firs  and  spruces 
and  cedars  and  weighing  them  down  against 
the  trunks  until  they  look  slender  and  sharp 
as  arrows,  while  a  strange,  muffled  silence 
prevails,  giving  a  peculiar  solemnity  to  every 
thing.  But  these  lowland  snowstorms  and 
their  effects  quickly  vanish;  every  crystal  melts 
in  a  day  or  two,  the  bent  branches  rise  again, 
and  the  rain  resumes  its  sway. 

While  these  gracious  rains  are  searching  the 
roots  of  the  lowlands,  corresponding  snows  are 
busy  along  the  heights  of  the  Cascade  Moun 
tains.  Month  after  month,  day  and  night  the 
heavens  shed  their  icy  bloom  in  stormy,  meas 
ureless  abundance,  filling  the  grand  upper  foun 
tains  of  the  rivers  to  last  through  the  summer. 

286 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON 

Awful  then  is  the  silence  that  presses  down  over 
the  mountain  forests.  All  the  smaller  streams 
vanish  from  sight,  hushed  and  obliterated. 
Young  groves  of  spruce  and  pine  are  bowed 
down  as  by  a  gentle  hand  and  put  to  rest, 
not  again  to  see  the  light  or  move  leaf  or  limb 
until  the  grand  awakening  of  the  springtime, 
while  the  larger  animals  and  most  of  the  birds 
seek  food  and  shelter  in  the  foothills  on  the 
borders  of  the  valleys  and  plains. 

The  lofty  volcanic  peaks  are  yet  more  heav 
ily  snow-laden.  To  their  upper  zones  no  sum 
mer  comes.  They  are  white  always.  From 
the  steep  slopes  of  the  summit  the  new-fallen 
snow,  while  yet  dry  and  loose,  descends  in 
magnificent  avalanches  to  feed  the  glaciers, 
making  meanwhile  the  most  glorious  manifes 
tations  of  power.  Happy  is  the  man  who  may 
get  near  them  to  see  and  hear.  In  some  shel 
tered  camp  nest  on  the  edge  of  the  timber- 
line  one  may  lie  snug  and  warm,  but  after  the 
long  shuffle  on  snowshoes  we  may  have  to 
wait  more  than  a  month  ere  the  heavens  open 
and  the  grand  show  is  unveiled.  In  the  mean 
time,  bread  may  be  scarce,  unless  with  care 
ful  forecast  a  sufficient  supply  has  been  pro 
vided  and  securely  placed  during  the  summer. 
Nevertheless,  to  be  thus  deeply  snowbound 
high  in  the  sky  is  not  without  generous  com- 

287 


STEEP  TRAILS 

pensation  for  all  the  cost.  And  when  we  at 
length  go  down  the  long  white  slopes  to  the 
levels  of  civilization,  the  pains  vanish  like 
snow  in  sunshine,  while  the  noble  and  exalting 
pleasures  we  have  gained  remain  with  us  to 
enrich  our  lives  forever. 

The  fate  of  the  high-flying  mountain  snow- 
flowers  is  a  fascinating  study,  though  little 
may  we  see  of  their  works  and  ways  while 
their  storms  go  on.  The  glinting,  swirling 
swarms  fairly  thicken  the  blast,  and  all  the 
air,  as  well  as  the  rocks  and  trees,  is  as  one 
smothering  mass  of  bloom,  through  the  midst 
of  which  at  close  intervals  come  the  low,  in 
tense  thunder-tones  of  the  avalanches  as  they 
speed  on  their  way  to  fill  the  vast  fountain 
hollows.  Here  they  seem  at  last  to  have  found 
rest.  But  this  rest  is  only  apparent.  Gradu 
ally  the  loose  crystals  by  the  pressure  of  their 
own  weight  are  welded  together  into  clear  ice, 
and,  as  glaciers,  march  steadily,  silently  on, 
with  invisible  motion,  in  broad,  deep  currents, 
grinding  their  way  with  irresistible  energy  to 
the  warmer  lowlands,  where  they  vanish  in 
glad,  rejoicing  streams. 

In  the  sober  weather  of  Oregon  lightning 
makes  but  little  show.  Those  magnificent 
thunder-storms  that  so  frequently  adorn  and 
glorify  the  sky  of  the  Mississippi  Valley  are 

288 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON 

wanting  here.  Dull  thunder  and  lightning 
may  occasionally  be  seen  and  heard,  but  the 
imposing  grandeur  of  great  storms  marching 
over  the  landscape  with  streaming  banners 
and  a  network  of  fire  is  almost  wholly  un 
known. 

Crossing  the  Cascade  Range,  we  pass  from 
a  green  to  a  gray  country,  from  a  wilderness 
of  trees  to  a  wilderness  of  open  plains,  level 
or  rolling  or  rising  here  and  there  into  hills 
and  short  mountain  spurs.  Though  well  sup 
plied  with  rivers  in  most  of  its  main  sections, 
it  is  generally  dry.  The  annual  rainfall  is 
only  from  about  five  to  fifteen  inches,  and  the 
thin  winter  garment  of  snow  seldom  lasts  more 
than  a  month  or  two,  though  the  temperature 
in  many  places  falls  from  five  to  twenty-five 
degrees  below  zero  for  a  short  time.  That  the 
snow  is  light  over  eastern  Oregon,  and  the 
average  temperature  not  intolerably  severe,  is 
shown  by  the  fact  that  large  droves  of  sheep, 
cattle,  and  horses  live  there  through  the  winter 
without  other  food  or  shelter  than  they  find 
for  themselves  on  the  open  plains  or  down  in 
the  sunken  valleys  and  gorges  along  the 
streams. 

When  we  read  of  the  mountain-ranges  of 
Oregon  and  Washington  with  detailed  descrip 
tions  of  their  old  volcanoes  towering  snow- 

289 


STEEP  TRAILS 

laden  and  glacier-laden  above  the  clouds,  one 
may  be  led  to  imagine  that  the  country  is 
far  icier  and  whiter  and  more  mountainous 
than  it  is.  Only  in  winter  are  the  Coast  and 
Cascade  Mountains  covered  with  snow.  Then 
as  seen  from  the  main  interior  valleys  they 
appear  as  comparatively  low,  bossy  walls 
stretching  along  the  horizon  and  making  a 
magnificent  display  of  their  white  wealth. 
The  Coast  Range  in  Oregon  does  not  perhaps 
average  more  than  three  thousand  feet  in 
height.  Its  snow  does  not  last  long,  most  of 
its  soil  is  fertile  all  the  way  to  the  summits, 
and  the  greater  part  of  the  range  may  at  some 
time  be  brought  under  cultivation.  The  im 
mense  deposits  on  the  great  central  uplift  of 
the  Cascade  Range  are  mostly  melted  off 
before  the  middle  of  summer  by  the  compara 
tively  warm  winds  and  rains  from  the  coast, 
leaving  only  a  few  white  spots  on  the  highest 
ridges,  where  the  depth  from  drifting  has  been 
greatest,  or  where  the  rate  of  waste  has  been 
diminished  by  specially  favorable  conditions 
as  to  exposure.  Only  the  great  volcanic  cones 
are  truly  snow-clad  all  the  year,  and  these 
are  not  numerous  and  make  but  a  small  por 
tion  of  the  general  landscape. 

As  we  approach  Oregon  from  the  coast  in 
summer,  no  hint  of  snowy  mountains  can  be 

290 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON 

seen,  and  it  is  only  after  we  have  sailed  into 
the  country  by  the  Columbia,  or  climbed  some 
one  of  the  commanding  summits,  that  the 
great  white  peaks  send  us  greeting  and  make 
telling  advertisements  of  themselves  and  of 
the  country  over  which  they  rule.  So,  also,  in 
coming  to  Oregon  from  the  east  the  country 
by  no  means  impresses  one  as  being  surpass 
ingly  mountainous,  the  abode  of  peaks  and 
glaciers.  Descending  the  spurs  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains  into  the  basin  of  the  Columbia,  we 
see  hot,  hundred-mile  plains,  roughened  here 
and  there  by  hills  and  ridges  that  look  hazy 
and  blue  in  the  distance,  until  we  have  pushed 
well  to  the  westward.  Then  one  white  point 
after  another  comes  into  sight  to  refresh  the 
eye  and  the  imagination;  but  they  are  yet  a 
long  way  off,  and  have  much  to  say  only  to 
those  who  know  them  or  others  of  their  kind. 
How  grand  they  are,  though  insignificant- 
looking  on  the  edge  of  the  vast  landscape! 
What  noble  woods  they  nourish,  and  emerald 
meadows  and  gardens!  What  springs  and 
streams  and  waterfalls  sing  about  them,  and 
to  what  a  multitude  of  happy  creatures  they 
give  homes  and  food! 

The  principal  mountains  of  the  range  are 
Mounts  Pitt,  Scott,  and  Thielson,  Diamond 
Peak,   the  Three   Sisters,   Mounts  Jefferson, 
291 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Hood,  St.  Helen's,  Adams,  Rainier,  Aix,  and 
Baker.  Of  these  the  seven  first  named  belong  to 
Oregon,  the  others  to  Washington.  They  rise 
singly  at  irregular  distances  from  one  another 
along  the  main  axis  of  the  range  or  near  it,  with 
an  elevation  of  from  about  eight  thousand  to 
fourteen  thousand  four  hundred  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sea.  From  few  points  in  the 
valleys  may  more  than  three  or  four  of  them 
be  seen,  and  of  the  more  distant  ones  of  these 
only  the  tops  appear.  Therefore,  speaking 
generally,  each  of  the  lowland  landscapes  of 
the  State  contains  only  one  grand  snowy 
mountain. 

The  heights  back  of  Portland  command 
one  of  the  best  general  views  of  the  forests  and 
also  of  the  most  famous  of  the  great  moun 
tains  both  of  Oregon  and  Washington.  Mount 
Hood  is  in  full  view,  with  the  summits  of 
Mounts  Jefferson,  St.  Helen's,  Adams,  and 
Rainier  in  the  distance.  The  city  of  Portland 
is  at  our  feet,  covering  a  large  area  along  both 
banks  of  the  Willamette,  andp  with  its  fine 
streets,  schools,  churches,  mills,  shipping, 
parks,  and  gardens,  makes  a  telling  picture 
of  busy,  aspiring  civilization  in  the  midst  of 
the  green  wilderness  in  which  it  is  planted. 
The  river  is  displayed  to  fine  advantage  in 
the  foreground  of  our  main  view,  sweeping 

292 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON 

in  beautiful  curves  around  rich,  leafy  islands, 
its  banks  fringed  with  willows. 

A  few  miles  beyond  the  Willamette  flowb 
the  renowned  Columbia,  and  the  confluence 
of  these  two  great  rivers  is  at  a  point  only 
about  ten  miles  below  the  city.  Beyond  the 
Columbia  extends  the  immense  breadth  of 
the  forest,  one  dun,  black,  monotonous  field, 
with  only  the  sky,  which  one  is  glad  to  see 
is  not  forested,  and  the  tops  of  the  majestic 
old  volcanoes  to  give  diversity  to  the  view. 
That  sharp,  white,  broad-based  pyramid  on 
the  south  side  of  the  Columbia,  a  few  degrees 
to  the  south  of  east  from  where  you  stand,  is 
the  famous  Mount  Hood.  The  distance  to 
it  in  a  straight  line  is  about  fifty  miles.  Its 
upper  slopes  form  the  only  bare  ground,  bare 
as  to  forests,  in  the  landscape  in  that  direction. 
It  is  the  pride  of  Oregonians,  and  when  it  is 
visible  is  always  pointed  out  to  strangers  as 
the  glory  of  the  country,  the  mountain  of 
mountains.  It  is  one  of  the  grand  series  of 
extinct  volcanoes  extending  from  Lassen's 
Butte  l  to  Mount  Baker,  a  distance  of  about 
six  hundred  miles,  which  once  flamed  like 
gigantic  watch-fires  along  the  coast.  Some  of 
them  have  been  active  in  recent  times,  but 
no  considerable  addition  to  the  bulk  of  Mount 

1  Lassen  Peak  on  recent  maps.  [Editor.] 
293 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Hood  has  been  made  for  several  centuries,  as 
is  shown  by  the  amount  of  glacial  denudation 
it  has  suffered.  Its  summit  has  been  ground 
to  a  point,  which  gives  it  a  rather  thin,  pinched 
appearance.  It  has  a  wide-flowing  base,  how 
ever,  and  is  fairly  well  proportioned.  Though 
it  is  eleven  thousand  feet  high,  it  is  too  far  off 
to  make  much  show  under  ordinary  condi 
tions  in  so  extensive  a  landscape.  Through  a 
great  part  of  the  summer  it  is  invisible  on 
account  of  smoke  poured  into  the  sky  from 
burning  woods,  logging-camps,  mills,  etc.,  and 
in  winter  for  weeks  at  a  tune,  or  even  months, 
it  is  in  the  clouds.  Only  in  spring  and  early 
summer  and  in  what  there  may  chance  to  be 
of  bright  weather  in  winter  is  it  or  any  of  its 
companions  at  all  clear  or  telling.  From  the 
Cascades  on  the  Columbia  it  may  be  seen  at 
a  distance  of  twenty  miles  or  thereabouts,  or 
from  other  points  up  and  down  the  river,  and 
with  the  magnificent  foreground  it  is  very  im 
pressive.  It  gives  the  supreme  touch  of  gran 
deur  to  all  the  main  Columbia  views,  rising 
at  every  turn,  solitary,  majestic,  awe-inspiring, 
the  ruling  spirit  of  the  landscape.  But,  like 
mountains  everywhere,  it  varies  greatly  in 
impressiveness  and  apparent  height  at  differ 
ent  times  and  seasons,  not  alone  from  dif 
ferences  as  to  the  dimness  or  transparency  of 

294 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON 

the  air.  Clear,  or  arrayed  in  clouds,  it  changes 
both  in  size  and  general  expression.  Now  it 
looms  up  to  an  immense  height  and  seems  to 
draw  near  in  tremendous  grandeur  and  beauty, 
holding  the  eyes  of  every  beholder  in  devout 
and  awful  interest.  Next  year  or  next  day, 
or  even  in  the  same  day,  you  return  to  the 
same  point  of  view,  perhaps  to  find  that  the 
glory  has  departed,  as  if  the  mountain  had 
died  and  the  poor  dull,  shrunken  mass  of  rocks 
and  ice  had  lost  all  power  to  charm. 

Never  shall  I  forget  my  first  glorious  view 
of  Mount  Hood  one  calm  evening  in  July, 
though  I  had  seen  it  many  times  before  this. 
I  was  then  sauntering  with  a  friend  across  the 
new  Willamette  bridge  between  Portland  and 
East  Portland  for  the  sake  of  the  river  views, 
which  are  here  very  fine  in  the  tranquil  sum 
mer  weather.  The  scene  on  the  water  was  a 
lively  one.  Boats  of  every  description  were 
gliding,  glinting,  drifting  about  at  work  or 
play,  and  we  leaned  over  the  rail  from  time 
to  time,  contemplating  the  gay  throng.  Sev 
eral  lines  of  ferry-boats  were  making  regular 
trips  at  intervals  of  a  few  minutes,  and  river 
steamers  were  coming  and  going  from  the 
wharves,  laden  with  all  sorts  of  merchandise, 
raising  long  diverging  swells  that  made  all  the 
light  pleasure-craft  bow  and  nod  in  hearty 

295 


STEEP  TRAILS 

salutation  as  they  passed.  The  crowd  was 
being  constantly  increased  by  new  arrivals 
from  both  shores,  sailboats,  rowboats,  racing- 
shells,  rafts,  were  loaded  with  gayly  dressed 
people,  and  here  and  there  some  adventurous 
man  or  boy  might  be  seen  as  a  merry  sailor 
on  a  single  plank  or  spar,  apparently  as  deep 
hi  enjoyment  as  were  any  on  the  water.  It 
seemed  as  if  all  the  town  were  coming  to  the 
river,  renouncing  the  cares  and  toils  of  the 
day,  determined  to  take  the  evening  breeze 
into  their  pulses,  and  be  cool  and  tranquil  ere 
going  to  bed. 

Absorbed  hi  the  happy  scene,  given  up  to 
dreamy,  random  observation  of  what  lay 
immediately  before  me,  I  was  not  conscious 
of  anything  occurring  on  the  outer  rim  of  the 
landscape.  Forest,  mountain,  and  sky  were 
forgotten,  when  my  companion  suddenly 
directed  my  attention  to  the  eastward,  shout 
ing,  "Oh,  look!  look!"  in  so  loud  and  excited 
a  tone  of  voice  that  passers-by,  saunterers  like 
ourselves,  were  startled  and  looked  over  the 
bridge  as  if  expecting  to  see  some  boat  upset. 
Looking  across  the  forest,  over  which  the  mel 
low  light  of  the  sunset  was  streaming,  I  soon 
discovered  the  source  of  my  friend's  excite 
ment.  There  stood  Mount  Hood  in  all  the 
glory  of  the  alpenglow,  looming  immensely 

296 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  OREGON 

high,  beaming  with  intelligence,  and  so  im 
pressive  that  one  was  overawed  as  if  suddenly 
brought  before  some  superior  being  newly 
arrived  from  the  sky. 

The  atmosphere  was  somewhat  hazy,  but 
the  mountain  seemed  neither  near  nor  far. 
Its  glaciers  flashed  in  the  divine  light.  The 
rugged,  storm-worn  ridges  between  them  and 
the  snowfields  of  the  summit,  these  perhaps 
might  have  been  traced  as  far  as  they  were  in 
sight,  and  the  blending  zones  of  color  about 
the  base.  But  so  profound  was  the  general 
impression,  partial  analysis  did  not  come  into 
play.  The  whole  mountain  appeared  as  one 
glorious  manifestation  of  divine  power,  en 
thusiastic  and  benevolent,  glowing  like  a 
countenance  with  ineffable  repose  and  beauty, 
before  which  we  could  only  gaze  in  devout  and 
lowly  admiration. 

The  far-famed  Oregon  forests  cover  all  the 
western  section  of  the  State,  the  mountains 
as  well  as  the  lowlands,  with  the  exception  of 
a  few  gravelly  spots  and  open  spaces  in  the 
central  portions  of  the  great  cultivated  val 
leys.  Beginning  on  the  coast,  where  their 
outer  ranks  are  drenched  and  buffeted  by 
wind-driven  scud  from  the  sea,  they  press  on 
in  close,  majestic  ranks  over  the  coast  moun 
tains,  across  the  broad  central  valleys,  and 

297 


STEEP  TRAILS 

over  the  Cascade  Range,  broken  and  halted 
only  by  the  few  great  peaks  that  rise  like 
islands  above  the  sea  of  evergreens. 

In  descending  the  eastern  slopes  of  the  Cas 
cades  the  rich,  abounding,  triumphant  exu 
berance  of  the  trees  is  quickly  subdued;  they 
become  smaller,  grow  wide  apart,  leaving  dry 
spaces  without  moss  covering  or  underbrush, 
and  before  the  foot  of  the  range  is  reached, 
fail  altogether,  stayed  by  the  drouth  of  the 
interior  almost  as  suddenly  as  on  the  western 
margin  they  are  stayed  by  the  sea.  Here  and 
there  at  wide  intervals  on  the  eastern  plains 
patches  of  a  small  pine  (Pinus  contorta)  are 
found,  and  a  scattering  growth  of  juniper,  used 
by  the  settlers  mostly  for  fence-posts  and  fire 
wood.  Along  the  stream-bottoms  there  is 
usually  more  or  less  of  cottonwood  and  willow, 
which,  though  yielding  inferior  timber,  is  yet 
highly  prized  in  this  bare  region.  On  the  Blue 
Mountains  there  is  pine,  spruce,  fir,  and  larch 
in  abundance  for  every  use,  but  beyond  this 
range  there  is  nothing  that  may  be  called  a 
forest  in  the  Columbia  River  basin,  until  we 
reach  the  spurs  of  the  Rocky  Mountains;  and 
these  Rocky  Mountain  forests  are  made  up 
of  trees  which,  compared  with  the  giants  of 
the  Pacific  Slope,  are  mere  saplings. 


XXII 

THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON  AND  THEIR 
INHABITANTS 

LIKE  the  forests  of  Washington,  already 
described,  those  of  Oregon  are  in  great  part 
made  up  of  the  Douglas  spruce,1  or  Oregon 
pine  (Abies  Douglasii).  A  large  number  of 
mills  are  at  work  upon  this  species,  especially 
along  the  Columbia,  but  these  as  yet  have 
made  but  little  impression  upon  its  dense 
masses,  the  mills  here  being  small  as  compared 
with  those  of  the  Puget  Sound  region.  The 
white  cedar,  or  Port  Orford  cedar  (Cupressus 
Lawsoniana,  or  Chamcecyparis  Lawsoniana),  is 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  evergreens,  and 
produces  excellent  lumber,  considerable  quan 
tities  of  which  are  shipped  to  the  San  Fran 
cisco  market.  It  is  found  mostly  about  Coos 
Bay,  along  the  Coquille  River,  and  on  the 
northern  slopes  of  the  Siskiyou  Mountains, 
and  extends  down  the  coast  into  California. 
The  silver  firs,  the  spruces,  and  the  colossal 
arbor-vitse,  or  white  cedar  2  (Thuja  gigantea), 
described  in  the  chapter  on  Washington,  are 

1  Pseudotsuga  taxifolia.  Brit.   [Editor.] 

2  Thuja  plicata  Don.   [Editor.] 

299 


STEEP  TRAILS 

also  found  here  in  great  beauty  and  perfec 
tion,  the  largest  of  these  (Picea  grandis, 
Loud.;  Abies  grandis,  Lindl.)  being  confined 
mostly  to  the  coast  region,  where  it  attains  a 
height  of  three  hundred  feet,  and  a  diameter 
of  ten  or  twelve  feet.  Five  or  six  species  of 
pines  are  found  in  the  State,  the  most  impor 
tant  of  which,  both  as  to  lumber  and  as  to  the 
part  they  play  in  the  general  wealth  and 
beauty  of  the  forests,  are  the  yellow  and  sugar 
pines  (Pinus  ponderosa  and  P.  Lambertiana). 
The  yellow  pine  is  most  abundant  on  the  east 
ern  slopes  of  the  Cascades,  forming  there  the 
main  bulk  of  the  forest  in  many  places.  It  is 
also  common  along  the  borders  of  the  open 
spaces  in  Willamette  Valley.  In  the  southern 
portion  of  the  State  the  sugar  pine,  which  is  the 
king  of  all  the  pines  and  the  glory  of  the  Sierra 
forests,  occurs  in  considerable  abundance  in 
the  basins  of  the  Umpqua  and  Rogue  Rivers, 
and  it  was  in  the  Umpqua  Hills  that  this  noble 
tree  was  first  discovered  by  the  enthusiastic 
botanical  explorer  David  Douglas,  in  the  year 
1826. 

This  is  the  Douglas  for  whom  the  noble 
Douglas  spruce  is  named,  and  many  a  fair 
blooming  plant  also,  which  will  serve  to  keep 
his  memory  fresh  and  sweet  as  long  as  beauti 
ful  trees  and  flowers  are  loved.  The  Indians 

300 


THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON 

of  the  lower  Columbia  River  watched  him 
with  lively  curiosity  as  he  wandered  about  in 
the  woods  day  after  day,  gazing  intently  on 
the  ground  or  at  the  great  trees,  collecting 
specimens  of  everything  he  saw,  but,  unlike 
all  the  eager  fur-gathering  strangers  they  had 
hitherto  seen,  caring  nothing  about  trade.  And 
when  at  length  they  came  to  know  him  better, 
and  saw  that  from  year  to  year  the  growing 
things  of  the  woods  and  prairies,  meadows 
and  plains,  were  his  only  object  of  pursuit, 
they  called  him  the  "Man  of  Grass/'  a  title 
of  which  he  was  proud. 

He  was  a  Scotchman  and  first  came  to  this 
coast  in  the  spring  of  1825  under  the  auspices 
of  the  London  Horticultural  Society,  landing 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia  after  a  long, 
dismal  voyage  of  eight  months  and  fourteen 
days.  During  this  first  season  he  chose  Fort 
Vancouver,  belonging  to  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company,  as  his  headquarters,  and  from  there 
made  excursions  into  the  glorious  wilderness 
in  every  direction,  discovering  many  new 
species  among  the  trees  as  well  as  among 
the  rich  underbrush  and  smaller  herbaceous 
vegetation.  It  was  while  making  a  trip  to 
Mount  Hood  this  year  that  he  discovered  the 
two  largest  and  most  beautiful  firs  in  the 
world  (Picea  amabilis  and  P.  nobilis  —  now 

301 


STEEP  TRAILS 

called  Abies),  and  from  the  seeds  which  he 
then  collected  and  sent  home  tall  trees  are 
now  growing  in  Scotland. 

In  one  of  his  trips  that  summer,  in  the 
lower  Willamette  Valley,  he  saw  in  an  Indian's 
tobacco-pouch  some  of  the  seeds  and  scales  of 
a  new  species  of  pine,  which  he  learned  were 
gathered  from  a  large  tree  that  grew  far  to 
the  southward.  Most  of  the  following  season 
was  spent  on  the  upper  waters  of  the  Colum 
bia,  and  it  was  not  until  September  that  he 
returned  to  Fort  Vancouver,  about  the  tune 
of  the  setting-in  of  the  winter  rains.  Never 
theless,  bearing  in  mind  the  great  pine  he  had 
heard  of,  and  the  seeds  of  which  he  had  seen, 
he  made  haste  to  set  out  on  an  excursion  to 
the  headwaters  of  the  Willamette  in  search 
of  it;  and  how  he  fared  on  this  excursion  and 
what  dangers  and  hardships  he  endured  is 
best  told  in  his  own  journal,  part  of  which  I 
quote  as  follows :  — 

October  26th,  1826.  Weather  dull.  Cold  and 
cloudy.  When  my  friends  in  England  are  made 
acquainted  with  my  travels  I  fear  they  will  think 
that  I  have  told  them  nothing  but  my  miseries.  .  .  . 
I  quitted  my  camp  early  in  the  morning  to  survey 
the  neighboring  country,  leaving  my  guide  to  take 
charge  of  the  horses  until  my  return  in  the  evening. 
About  an  hour's  walk  from  the  camp  I  met  an 
Indian,  who  on  perceiving  me  instantly  strung  his 
302, 


THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON 

bow,  placed  on  his  left  arm  a  sleeve  of  raccoon  skin 
and  stood  on  the  defensive.  Being  quite  sure  that 
conduct  was  prompted  by  fear  and  not  by  hostile 
intentions,  the  poor  fellow  having  probably  never 
seen  such  a  being  as  myself  before,  I  laid  my  gun 
at  my  feet  on  the  ground  and  waved  my  hand  for 
him  to  come  to  me,  which  he  did  slowly  and  with 
great  caution.  I  then  made  him  place  his  bow  and 
quiver  of  arrows  beside  my  gun,  and  striking  a 
light  gave  him  a  smoke  out  of  my  own  pipe  and 
a  present  of  a  few  beads.  With  my  pencil  I  made 
a  rough  sketch  of  the  cone  and  pine  tree  which  I 
wanted  to  obtain  and  drew  his  attention  to  it,  when 
he  instantly  pointed  with  his  hand  to  the  hills 
fifteen  or  twenty  miles  distant  towards  the  south; 
and  when  I  expressed  my  intention  of  going  thither, 
cheerfully  set  about  accompanying  me.  At  midday 
I  reached  my  long-wished-for  pines  and  lost  no 
time  in  examining  them  and  endeavoring  to  collect 
specimens  and  seeds.  New  and  strange  things  sel 
dom  fail  to  make  strong  impressions  and  are  there 
fore  frequently  overrated;  so  that,  lest  I  should 
never  see  my  friends  in  England  to  inform  them 
verbally  of  this  most  beautiful  and  immensely 
grand  tree,  I  shall  here  state  the  dimensions  of  the 
largest  I  could  find  among  several  that  had  been 
blown  down  by  the  wind.  At  three  feet  from  the 
ground  its  circumference  is  fifty-seven  feet,  nine 
inches;  at  one  hundred  and  thirty-four  feet,  seven 
teen  feet  five  inches;  the  extreme  length  two  hun 
dred  and  forty-five  feet.  ...  As  it  was  impossible 
either  to  climb  the  tree  or  hew  it  down,  I  endeavored 
to  knock  off  the  cones  by  firing  at  them  with  ball, 
when  the  report  of  my  gun  brought  eight  Indians, 

303 


STEEP  TRAILS 

all  of  them  painted  with  red  earth,  armed  with 
bows,  arrows,  bone-tipped  spears,  and  flint  knives. 
They  appeared  anything  but  friendly.  I  explained 
to  them  what  I  wanted  and  they  seemed  satisfied 
and  sat  down  to  smoke;  but  presently  I  saw  one  of 
them  string  his  bow  and  another  sharpen  his  flint 
knife  with  a  pair  of  wooden  pincers  and  suspend  it 
on  the  wrist  of  his  right  hand.  Further  testimony 
of  their  intentions  was  unnecessary.  To  save  my 
self  by  flight  was  impossible,  so  without  hesitation 
I  stepped  back  about  five  paces,  cocked  my  gun, 
drew  one  of  the  pistols  out  of  my  belt,  and  holding 
it  in  my  left  hand,  the  gun  in  my  right,  showed 
myself  determined  to  fight  for  my  life.  As  much 
as  possible  I  endeavored  to  preserve  my  coolness, 
and  thus  we  stood  looking  at  one  another  without 
making  any  movement  or  uttering  a  word  for  per 
haps  ten  minutes,  when  one  at  last,  who  seemed  to 
be  the  leader,  gave  a  sign  that  they  wished  for  some 
tobacco;  this  I  signified  they  should  have  if  they 
fetched  a  quantity  of  cones.  They  went  off  immedi 
ately  in  search  of  them,  and  no  sooner  were  they  all 
out  of  sight  than  I  picked  up  my  three  cones  and 
some  twigs  of  the  trees  and  made  the  quickest  pos 
sible  retreat,  hurrying  back  to  my  camp,  which  I 
reached  before  dusk.  The  Indian  who  last  under 
took  to  be  my  guide  to  the  trees  I  sent  off  before 
gaining  my  encampment,  lest  he  should  betray  me. 
How  irksome  is  the  darkness  of  night  to  one  under 
such  circumstances.  I  cannot  speak  a  word  to  my 
guide,  nor  have  I  a  book  to  divert  my  thoughts, 
which  are  continually  occupied  with  the  dread  lest 
the  hostile  Indians  should  trace  me  hither  and  make 
an  attack.  I  now  write  lying  on  the  grass  with  my 

304 


THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON 

gun  cocked  beside  me,  and  penning  these  lines  by 
the  light  of  my  Columbian  candle,  namely,  an  ignited 
piece  of  rosin-wood. 

Douglas  named  this  magnificent  species 
Pinus  Lambertiana,  in  honor  of  his  friend  Dr. 
Lambert,  of  London.  This  is  the  noblest  pine 
thus  far  discovered  in  the  forests  of  the  world, 
surpassing  all  others  not  only  in  size  but  in 
beauty  and  majesty.  Oregon  may  well  be 
proud  that  its  discovery  was  made  within 
her  borders,  and  that,  though  it  is  far  more 
abundant  in  California,  she  has  the  largest 
known  specimens.  In  the  Sierra  the  finest 
sugar  pine  forests  lie  at  an  elevation  of  about 
five  thousand  feet.  In  Oregon  they  occupy 
much  lower  ground,  some  of  the  trees  being 
found  but  little  above  tide-water. 

No  lover  of  trees  will  ever  forget  his  first 
meeting  with  the  sugar  pine.  In  most  coni 
ferous  trees  there  is  a  sameness  of  form  and 
expression  which  at  length  becomes  wearisome 
to  most  people  who  travel  far  in  the  woods. 
But  the  sugar  pines  are  as  free  from  conven 
tional  forms  as  any  of  the  oaks.  No  two  are 
so  much  alike  as  to  hide  their  individuality 
from  any  observer.  Every  tree  is  appreciated 
as  a  study  in  itself  and  proclaims  in  no  uncer 
tain  terms  the  surpassing  grandeur  of  the  spe 
cies.  The  branches,  mostly  near  the  summit, 

305 


STEEP  TRAILS 

are  sometimes  nearly  forty  feet  long,  feathered 
richly  all  around  with  short,  leafy  branchlets, 
and  tasselled  with  cones  a  foot  and  a  half  long. 
And  when  these  superb  arms  are  outspread, 
radiating  in  every  direction,  an  immense  crown- 
like  mass  is  formed  which,  poised  on  the  no 
ble  shaft  and  filled  with  sunshine,  is  one  of 
the  grandest  forest  objects  conceivable.  But 
though  so  wild  and  unconventional  when  full- 
grown,  the  sugar  pine  is  a  remarkably  regular 
tree  in  youth,  a  strict  follower  of  coniferous 
fashions,  slim,  erect,  tapering,  symmetrical, 
every  branch  in  place.  At  the  age  of  fifty  or 
sixty  years  this  shy,  fashionable  form  begins 
to  give  way.  Special  branches  are  thrust  out 
away  from  the  general  outlines  of  the  trees 
and  bent  down  with  cones.  Henceforth  it  be 
comes  more  and  more  original  and  indepen 
dent  in  style,  pushes  boldly  aloft  into  the 
winds  and  sunshine,  growing  ever  more  stately 
and  beautiful,  a  joy  and  inspiration  to  every 
beholder. 

Unfortunately,  the  sugar  pine  makes  excel 
lent  lumber.  It  is  too  good  to  live,  and  is 
already  passing  rapidly  away  before  the  wood 
man's  axe.  Surely  out  of  all  of  the  abound 
ing  forest-wealth  of  Oregon  a  few  specimens 
might  be  spared  to  the  world,  not  as  dead 
lumber,  but  as  living  trees.  A  park  of  moderate 
306 


THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON 

extent  might  be  set  apart  and  protected  for 
public  use  forever,  containing  at  least  a  few 
hundreds  of  each  of  these  noble  pines,  spruces, 
and  firs.  Happy  will  be  the  men  who,  having 
the  power  and  the  love  and  benevolent  forecast 
to  do  this,  will  do  it.  They  will  not  be  forgot 
ten.  The  trees  and  their  lovers  will  sing  their 
praises,  and  generations  yet  unborn  will  rise 
up  and  call  them  blessed. 

Dotting  the  prairies  and  fringing  the  edges 
of  the  great  evergreen  forests  we  find  a  con 
siderable  number  of  hardwood  trees,  such  as 
the  oak,  maple,  ash,  alder,  laurel,  madrone, 
flowering  dogwood,  wild  cherry,  and  wild 
apple.  The  white  oak  (Quercus  Garryana)  is 
the  most  important  of  the  Oregon  oaks  as  a 
timber  tree,  but  not  nearly  so  beautiful  as 
Kellogg's  oak  (Q.  Kelloggii).  The  former  is 
found  mostly  along  the  Columbia  River,  par 
ticularly  about  the  Dalles,  and  a  consider 
able  quantity  of  useful  lumber  is  made  from 
it  and  sold,  sometimes  for  eastern  white  oak, 
to  wagon-makers.  Kellogg' s  oak  is  a  magnifi 
cent  tree  and  does  much  for  the  picturesque 
beauty  of  the  Umpqua  and  Rogue  River  Val 
leys  where  it  abounds.  It  is  also  found  in  aK 
the  Yosemite  valleys  of  the  Sierra,  and  its 
acorns  form  an  important  part  of  the  food 
of  the  Digger  Indians.  In  the  Siskiyou  Moun- 

307 


STEEP  TRAILS 

tains  there  is  a  live  oak  (Q.  chrysolepis),  wide- 
spreading  and  very  picturesque  in  form,  but 
not  very  common.  It  extends  southward  along 
the  western  flank  of  the  Sierra  and  is  there 
more  abundant  and  much  larger  than  in  Ore 
gon,  oftentimes  five  to  eight  feet  hi  diameter. 

The  maples  are  the  same  as  those  in  Wash 
ington,  already  described,  but  I  have  not  seen 
any  maple  groves  here  equal  in  extent  or  hi 
the  size  of  the  trees  to  those  on  the  Snoqual- 
mie  River. 

The  Oregon  ash  is  now  rare  along  the  stream- 
banks  of  western  Oregon,  and  it  grows  to  a 
good  size  and  furnishes  lumber  that  is  for 
some  purposes  equal  to  the  white  ash  of  the 
Western  States. 

NuttalPs  flowering  dogwood  makes  a  brave 
display  with  its  wealth  of  showy  involucres 
hi  the  spring  along  cool  streams.  Specimens 
of  the  flowers  may  be  found  measuring  eight 
inches  in  diameter. 

The  wild  cherry  (Prunus  emarginataj  var. 
mollis)  is  a  small,  handsome  tree  seldom  more 
than  a  foot  hi  diameter  at  the  base.  It  makes 
valuable  lumber  and  its  black,  astringent 
fruit  furnishes  a  rich  resource  as  food  for 
the  birds.  A  smaller  form  is  common  in  the 
Sierra,  the  fruit  of  which  is  eagerly  eaten  by 
the  Indians  and  hunters  hi  tune  of  need. 

308 


THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON 

The  wild  apple  (Pyrus  rivularis)  is  a  fine, 
hearty,  handsome  little  tree  that  grows  well  in 
rich,  cool  soil  along  streams  and  on  the  edges  of 
beaver-meadows  from  California  through  Ore 
gon  and  Washington  to  southeastern  Alaska. 
In  Oregon  it  forms  dense,  tangled  thickets, 
some  of  them  almost  impenetrable.  The  largest 
trunks  are  nearly  a  foot  in  diameter.  When  in 
bloom  it  makes  a  fine  show  with  its  abundant 
clusters  of  flowers,  which  are  white  and  fra 
grant.  The  fruit  is  very  small  and  savagely 
acid.  It  is  wholesome,  however,  and  is  eaten  by 
birds,  bears,  Indians,  and  many  other  adven 
turers,  great  and  small. 

Passing  from  beneath  the  shadows  of  the 
woods  where  the  trees  grow  close  and  high, 
we  step  into  charming  wild  gardens  full  of 
lilies,  orchids,  heath  worts,  roses,  etc.,  with 
colors  so  gay  and  forming  such  sumptuous 
masses  of  bloom,  they  make  the  gardens  of 
civilization,  however  lovingly  cared  for,  seem 
pathetic  and  silly.  Around  the  great  fire- 
mountains,  above  the  forests  and  beneath  the 
snow,  there  is  a  flowery  zone  of  marvelous 
beauty  planted  with  anemones,  erythroniums, 
daisies,  bryanthus,  kalmia,  vaccinium,  cassiope, 
saxifrages,  etc.,  forming  one  continuous  gar 
den  fifty  or  sixty  miles  in  circumference,  and 
so  deep  and  luxuriant  and  closely  woven  it 

309 


STEEP  TRAILS 

seems  as  if  Nature,  glad  to  find  an  opening, 
were  economizing  space  and  trying  to  see  how 
many  of  her  bright-eyed  darlings  she  can  get 
together  in  one  mountain  wreath. 

Along  the  slopes  of  the  Cascades,  where 
the  woods  are  less  dense,  especially  about  the 
headwaters  of  the  Willamette,  there  are  miles 
of  rhododendron,  making  glorious  outbursts 
of  purple  bloom,  and  down  on  the  prairies  in 
rich,  damp  hollows  the  blue-flowered  camas- 
sia  grows  in  such  profusion  that  at  a  little 
distance  its  dense  masses  appear  as  beautiful 
blue  lakes  imbedded  in  the  green,  flowery 
plains;  while  all  about  the  streams  and  the 
lakes  and  the  beaver-meadows  and  the  mar 
gins  of  the  deep  woods  there  is  a  magnificent 
tangle  of  gaultheria  and  huckleberry  bushes 
with  their  myriads  of  pink  bells,  reinforced 
with  hazel,  cornel,  rubus  of  many  species, 
wild  plum,  cherry,  and  crab  apple;  besides 
thousands  of  charming  bloomers  to  be  found 
in  all  sorts  of  places  throughout  the  wilder 
ness  whose  mere  names  are  refreshing,  such 
as  linnsea,  menziesia,  pyrola,  chimaphila,  brodi- 
sea,  smilacina,  fritillaria,  calochortus,  trillium, 
clintonia,  veratrum,  cypripedium,  goodyera, 
spiranthes,  habenaria,  and  the  rare  and  lovely 
"Hider  of  the  North,"  Calypso  borealis,  to  find 
which  is  alone  a  sufficient  object  for  a  jour- 

310 


THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON 

ney  into  the  wilderness.  And  besides  these 
there  is  a  charming  underworld  of  ferns  and 
mosses  flourishing  gloriously  beneath  all  the 
woods. 

Everybody  loves  wild  woods  and  flowers 
more  or  less.  Seeds  of  all  these  Oregon  ever 
greens  and  of  many  of  the  flowering  shrubs  and 
plants  have  been  sent  to  almost  every  coun 
try  under  the  sun,  and  they  are  now  growing 
in  carefully  tended  parks  and  gardens.  And 
now  that  the  ways  of  approach  are  open  one 
would  expect  to  find  these  woods  and  gar 
dens  full  of  admiring  visitors  reveling  in  their 
beauty  like  bees  in  a  clover-field.  Yet  few 
care  to  visit  them.  A  portion  of  the  bark  of 
one  of  the  California  trees,  the  mere  dead 
skin,  excited  the  wondering  attention  of  thou 
sands  when  it  was  set  up  in  the  Crystal  Pal 
ace  in  London,  as  did  also  a  few  peeled  spars, 
the  shafts  of  mere  saplings  from  Oregon  or 
Washington.  Could  one  of  these  great  silver 
firs  or  sugar  pines  three  hundred  feet  high 
have  been  transplanted  entire  to  that  exhibi 
tion,  how  enthusiastic  would  have  been  the 
praises  accorded  to  it! 

Nevertheless,  the  countless  hosts  waving 
at  home  beneath  their  own  sky,  beside  their 
own  noble  rivers  and  mountains,  and  standing 
on  a  flower-enameled  carpet  of  mosses  thou- 

311 


STEEP  TRAILS 

sands  of  square  miles  in  extent,  attract  but 
little  attention.  Most  travelers  content  them 
selves  with  what  they  may  chance  to  see  from 
car  windows,  hotel  verandas,  or  the  deck  of 
a  steamer  on  the  lower  Columbia  —  clinging 
to  the  battered  highways  like  drowning  sail 
ors  to  a  life-raft.  When  an  excursion  into  the 
woods  is  proposed,  all  sorts  of  exaggerated 
or  imaginary  dangers  are  cpnjured  up,  filling 
the  kindly,  soothing  wilderness  with  colds, 
fevers,  Indians,  bears,  snakes,  bugs,  impass 
able  rivers,  and  jungles  of  brush,  to  which  is 
always  added  quick  and  sure  starvation. 

As  to  starvation,  the  woods  are  full  of  food, 
and  a  supply  of  bread  may  easily  be  carried 
for  habit's  sake,  and  replenished  now  and  then 
at  outlying  farms  and  camps.  The  Indians 
are  seldom  found  in  the  woods,  being  confined 
mainly  to  the  banks  of  the  rivers,  where  the 
greater  part  of  their  food  is  obtained.  More 
over,  the  most  of  them  have  been  either  buried 
since  the  settlement  of  the  country  or  civilized 
into  comparative  innocence,  industry,  or  harm 
less  laziness.  There  are  bears  in  the  woods, 
but  not  in  such  numbers  nor  of  such  unspeak 
able  ferocity  as  town-dwellers  imagine,  nor 
do  bears  spend  their  lives  in  going  about  the 
country  like  the  devil,  seeking  whom  they 
may  devour.  Oregon  bears,  like  most  others, 

312 


THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON 

have  no  liking  for  man  either  as  meat  or  as 
society;  and  while  some  may  be  curious  at 
times  to  see  what  manner  of  creature  he  is, 
most  of  them  have  learned  to  shun  people  as 
deadly  enemies.  They  have  been  poisoned, 
trapped,  and  shot  at  until  they  have  become 
shy,  and  it  is  no  longer  easy  to  make  their 
acquaintance.  Indeed,  since  the  settlement 
of  the  country,  notwithstanding  far  the  greater 
portion  is  yet  wild,  it  is  difficult  to  find  any  of 
the  larger  animals  that  once  were  numerous 
and  comparatively  familiar,  such  as  the  bear, 
wolf,  panther,  lynx,  deer,  elk,  and  antelope. 

As  early  as  1843,  while  the  settlers  num 
bered  only  a  few  thousands,  and  before  any 
sort  of  government  had  been  organized,  they 
came  together  and  held  what  they  called  "a 
wolf  meeting,"  at  which  a  committee  was 
appointed  to  devise  means  for  the  destruc 
tion  of  wild  animals  destructive  to  tame  ones, 
which  committee  in  due  time  begged  to  report 
as  follows:  — 

It  being  admitted  by  all  that  bears,  wolves,  pan 
thers,  etc.,  are  destructive  to  the  useful  animals 
owned  by  the  settlers  of  this  colony,  your  commit 
tee  would  submit  the  following  resolutions  as  the 
sense  of  this  meeting,  by  which  the  community  may 
be  governed  in  carrying  on  a  defensive  and  destruc 
tive  war  on  all  such  animals :  — 
313 


STEEP  TRAILS1 

Resolved,  1st.  —  That  we  deem  it  expedient  for 
the  community  to  take  immediate  measures  for 
the  destruction  of  all  wolves,  panthers  and  bears, 
and  such  pther  animals  as  are  known  to  be  destruc 
tive  to  cattle,  horses,  sheep  and  hogs. 

2d.  —  That  a  bounty  of  fifty  cents  be  paid  for 
the  destruction  of  a  small  wolf,  S3. 00  for  a  large 
wolf,  $1.50  for  a  lynx,  $2.00  for  a  bear  and  $5.00 
for  a  panther. 

This  center  of  destruction  was  in  the  Wil 
lamette  Valley.  But  for  many  years  prior  to 
the  beginning  of  the  operations  of  the  "Wolf 
Organization"  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company 
had  established  forts  and  trading-stations  over 
all  the  country,  wherever  fur-gathering  In 
dians  could  be  found,  and  vast  numbers  of 
these  animals  were  killed.  Their  destruction 
has  since  gone  on  at  an  accelerated  rate  from 
year  to  year  as  the  settlements  have  been  ex 
tended,  so  that  in  some  cases  it  is  difficult  to 
obtain  specimens  enough  for  the  use  of  nat 
uralists.  But  even  before  any  of  these  settle 
ments  were  made,  and  before  the  coming  of 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  there  was  very 
little  danger  to  be  met  in  passing  through  this 
wilderness  as  far  as  animals  were  concerned, 
and  but  little  of  any  kind  as  compared  with 
the  dangers  encountered  in  crowded  houses 
and  streets. 

When  Lewis  and  Clark  made  their  famous 

314 


THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON 

trip  across  the  continent  in  1804-05,  when  all 
the  Rocky  Mountain  region  was  wild,  as  well 
as  the  Pacific  Slope,  they  did  not  lose  a  single 
man  by  wild  animals,  nor,  though  frequently 
attacked,  especially  by  the  grizzlies  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  were  any  of  them  wounded 
seriously.  Captain  Clark  was  bitten  on  the 
hand  by  a  wolf  as  he  lay  asleep;  that  was  one 
bite  among  more  than  a  hundred  men  while 
traveling  through  eight  to  nine  thousand  miles 
of  savage  wilderness.  They  could  hardly  have 
been  so  fortunate  had  they  stayed  at  home. 
They  wintered  on  the  edge  of  the  Clatsop 
plains,  on  the  south  side  of  the  Columbia 
River  near  its  mouth.  In  the  woods  on  that 
side  they  found  game  abundant,  especially 
elk,  and  with  the  aid  of  the  friendly  Indians 
who  furnished  salmon  and  "wapatoo"  (the 
tubers  of  Sagittaria  variabilis),  they  were  in 
no  danger  of  starving. 

But  on  the  return  trip  in  the  spring  they 
reached  the  base  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 
when  the  range  was  yet  too  heavily  snow- 
laden  to  be  crossed  with  horses.  Therefore 
they  had  to  wait  some  weeks.  This  was  at 
the  head  of  one  of  the  northern  branches  of 
Snake  River,  and,  their  scanty  stock  of  provi 
sions  being  nearly  exhausted,  the  whole  party 
was  compelled  to  live  mostly  on  bears  and 

315     - 


STEEP  TRAILS 

dogs;  deer,  antelope,  and  elk,  usually  abun 
dant,  were  now  scarce  because  the  region  had 
been  closely  hunted  over  by  the  Indians  before 
their  arrival. 

Lewis  and  Clark  had  killed  a  number  of 
bears  and  saved  the  skins  of  the  more  interest 
ing  specimens,  and  the  variations  they  found 
in  size,  color  of  the  hair,  etc.,  made  great  dif 
ficulty  in  classification.  Wishing  to  get  the 
opinion  of  the  Chopumish  Indians,  near  one 
of  whose  villages  they  were  encamped,  con 
cerning  the  various  species,  the  explorers  un 
packed  their  bundles  and  spread  out  for  ex 
amination  all  the  skins  they  had  taken.  The 
Indian  hunters  immediately  classed  the  white, 
the  deep  and  the  pale  grizzly  red,  the  grizzly 
dark-brown  —  in  short,  all  those  with  the 
extremities  of  the  hair  of  a  white  or  frosty 
color  without  regard  to  the  color  of  the  ground 
or  foil  —  under  the  name  of  hoh-host.  The 
Indians  assured  them  that  these  were  all  of 
the  same  species  as  the  white  bear,  that  they 
associated  together,  had  longer  nails  than  the 
others,  and  never  climbed  trees.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  black  skins,  those  that  were  black 
with  white  hairs  intermixed  or  with  a  white 
breast,  the  uniform  bay,  the  brown,  and  the 
light  reddish-brown,  were  classed  under  the 
name  yack-ah,  and  were  said  to  resemble  each 

316 


THE  FORESTS  J)F  OREGON 

other  in  being  smaller  and  having  shorter  nails, 
in  climbing  trees,  and  being  so  little  vicious 
that  they  could  be  pursued  with  safety. 

Lewis  and  Clark  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  all  those  with  white-tipped  hair  found  by 
them  in  the  basin  of  the  Columbia  belonged 
to  the  same  species  as  the  grizzlies  of  the  upper 
Missouri;  and  that  the  black  and  reddish- 
brown,  etc.,  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  belong 
to  a  second  species  equally  distinct  from  the 
grizzly  and  the  black  bear  of  the  Pacific  Coast 
and  the  East,  which  never  vary  in  color. 

As  much  as  possible  should  be  made  by  the 
ordinary  traveler  of  these  descriptions,  for  he 
will  be  likely  to  see  very  little  of  any  species 
for  himself;  not  that  bears  no  longer  exist 
here,  but  because,  being  shy,  they  keep  out  of 
the  way.  In  order  to  see  them  and  learn  their 
habits  one  must  go  softly  and  alone,  lingering 
long  in  the  fringing  woods  on  the  banks  of  the 
salmon  streams,  and  in  the  small  openings 
in  the  midst  of  thickets  where  berries  are  most 
abundant. 

As  for  rattlesnakes,  the  other  grand  dread 
of  town-dwellers  when  they  leave  beaten  roads, 
there  are  two,  or  perhaps  three,  species  of  them 
in  Oregon.  But  they  are  nowhere  to  be  found 
in  great  numbers.  In  western  Oregon  they  are 
hardly  known  at  all.  In  all  my  walks  in  the 
317 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Oregon  forest  I  have  never  met  a  single  speci 
men,  though  a  few  have  been  seen  at  long 
intervals. 

When  the  country  was  first  settled  by  the 
whites,  fifty  years  ago,  the  elk  roamed  through 
the  woods  and  over  the  plains  to  the  east  of 
the  Cascades  in  immense  numbers;  now 
they  are  rarely  seen  except  by  experienced 
hunters  who  know  their  haunts  in  the  deepest 
and  most  inaccessible  solitudes  to  which  they 
have  been  driven.  So  majestic  an  animal 
forms  a  tempting  mark  for  the  sportsman's 
rifle.  Countless  thousands  have  been  killed 
for  mere  amusement  and  they  already  seem 
to  be  nearing  extinction  as  rapidly  as  the 
buffalo.  The  antelope  also  is  vanishing  from 
the  Columbia  plains  before  the  farmers  and 
cattle-men.  Whether  the  moose  still  lingers 
in  Oregon  or  Washington  I  am  unable  to  say. 

On  the  highest  mountains  of  the  Cascade 
Range  the  wild  goat  roams  in  comparative 
security,  few  of  his  enemies  caring  to  go  so  far 
in  pursuit  and  to  hunt  on  ground  so  high  and 
so  "dangerous.  He  is  a  brave,  sturdy,  shaggy 
mountaineer  of  an  animal,  enjoying  the  free 
dom  and  security  of  crumbling  ridges  and 
overhanging  cliffs  above  the  glaciers,  often 
times  beyond  the  reach  of  the  most  daring 
hunter.  They  seem  to  be  as  much  at  home  on 

318 


THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON 

the  ice  and  snow-fields  as  on  the  crags,  making 
their  way  in  flocks  from  ridge  to  ridge  on  the 
great  volcanic  mountains  by  crossing  the  gla 
ciers  that  lie  between  them,  traveling  in  single 
file  guided  by  an  old  experienced  leader,  like 
a  party  of  climbers  on  the  Alps.  On  these  ice- 
journeys  they  pick  their  way  through  networks 
of  crevasses  and  over  bridges  of  snow  with  ad 
mirable  skill,  and  the  mountaineer  may  sel 
dom  do  better  in  such  places  than  to  follow 
their  trail,  if  he  can.  In  the  rich  alpine  gar 
dens  and  meadows  they  find  abundance  of 
food,  venturing  sometimes  well  down  in  the 
prairie  openings  on  the  edge  of  the  timber- 
line,  but  holding  themselves  ever  alert  and 
watchful,  ready  to  flee  to  their  highland  cas 
tles  at  the  faintest  alarm.  When  their  summer 
pastures  are  buried  beneath  the  winter  snows, 
they  make  haste  to  the  lower  ridges,  seeking 
the  wind-beaten  crags  and  slopes  where  the 
snow  cannot  lie  at  any  great  depth,  feeding 
at  times  on  the  leaves  and  twigs  of  bushes 
when  grass  is  beyond  reach. 

The  wild  sheep  is  another  admirable  alpine 
rover,  but  comparatively  rare  in  the  Oregon 
mountains,  choosing  rather  the  drier  ridges 
to  the  southward  on  the  Cascades  and  to  the 
eastward  among  the  spurs  of  the  Rocky  Moun 
tain  chain. 

319 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Deer  give  beautiful  animation  to  the  forests, 
harmonizing  finely  in  their  color  and  move 
ments  with  the  gray  and  brown  shafts  of  the 
trees  and  the  swaying  of  the  branches  as  they 
stand  in  groups  at  rest,  or  move  gracefully 
and  noiselessly  over  the  mossy  ground  about 
the  edges  of  beaver-meadows  and  flowery 
glades,  daintily  culling  the  leaves  and  tips  of 
the  mints  and  aromatic  bushes  on  which  they 
feed.  There  are  three  species,  the  black-tailed, 
white-tailed,  and  mule  deer;  the  last  being 
restricted  in  its  range  to  the  open  woods  and 
plains  to  the  eastward  of  the  Cascades.  They 
are  nowhere  very  numerous  now,  killing  for 
food,  for  hides,  or  for  mere  wanton  sport,  hav 
ing  well-nigh  exterminated  them  in  the  more 
accessible  regions,  while  elsewhere  they  are 
too  often  at  the  mercy  of  the  wolves. 

Gliding  about  in  their  shady  forest  homes, 
keeping  well  out  of  sight,  there  is  a  multitude 
of  sleek  fur-clad  animals  living  and  enjoying 
their  clean,  beautiful  lives.  How  beautiful 
and  interesting  they  are  is  about  as  difficult 
for  busy  mortals  to  find  out  as  if  their  homes 
were  beyond  sight  in  the  sky.  Hence  the 
stories  of  every  wild  hunter  and  trapper  are 
eagerly  listened  to  as  being  possibly  true,  or 
partly  so,  however  thickly  clothed  in  succes 
sive  folds  of  exaggeration  and  fancy.  Unsatis- 

320 


THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON 

fying  as  these  accounts  must  be,  a  tourist's 
frightened  rush  and  scramble  through  the 
woods  yields  far  less  than  the  hunter's  wildest 
stories,  while  in  writing  we  can  do  but  little 
more  than  to  give  a  few  names,  as  they  come 
to  mind,  —  beaver,  squirrel,  coon,  fox,  mar 
ten,  fisher,  otter,  ermine,  wildcat,  —  only  this 
instead  of  full  descriptions  of  the  bright-eyed 
furry  throng,  their  snug  home  nests,  their 
fears  and  fights  and  loves,  how  they  get  their 
food,  rear  their  young,  escape  their  enemies, 
and  keep  themselves  warm  and  well  and  ex 
quisitely  clean  through  all  the  pitiless  weather. 
For  many  years  before  the  settlement  of 
the  country  the  fur  of  the  beaver  brought  a 
high  price,  and  therefore  it  was  pursued  with 
weariless  ardor.  Not  even  in  the  quest  for  gold 
has  a  more  ruthless,  desperate  energy  been 
developed.  It  was  in  those  early  beaver-days 
that  the  striking  class  of  adventurers  called 
"free  trappers"  made  their  appearance.  Bold, 
enterprising  men,  eager  to  make  money,  and 
inclined  at  the  same  time  to  relish  the  license 
of  a  savage  life,  would  set  forth  with  a  few 
traps  and  a  gun  and  a  hunting-knife,  content 
at  first  to  venture  only  a  short  distance  up 
the  beaver-streams  nearest  to  the  settlements, 
and  where  the  Indians  were  not  likely  to  mo 
lest  them.  There  they  would  set  their  traps, 

321 


STEEP  TRAILS 

while  the  buffalo,  antelope,  deer,  etc.,  fur 
nished  a  royal  supply  of  food.  In  a  few  months 
their  pack-animals  would  be  laden  with  thou 
sands  of  dollars'  worth  of  fur. 

Next  season  they  would  venture  farther, 
and  again  farther,  meanwhile  growing  rapidly 
wilder,  getting  acquainted  with  the  Indian 
tribes,  and  usually  marrying  among  them. 
Thenceforward  no  danger  could  stay  them 
in  their  exciting  pursuit.  Wherever  there  were 
beaver  they  would  go,  however  far  or  wild, 
—  the  wilder  the  better,  provided  their  scalps 
could  be  saved.  Oftentimes  they  were  com 
pelled  to  set  their  traps  and  visit  them  by 
night  and  lie  hid  during  the  day,  when  oper 
ating  in  the  neighborhood  of  hostile  Indians. 
Not  then  venturing  to  make  a  fire  or  shoot 
game,  they  lived  on  the  raw  flesh  of  the  beaver, 
perhaps  seasoned  with  wild  cresses  or  berries. 
Then,  returning  to  the  trading-stations,  they 
would  spend  their  hard  earnings  in  a  few  weeks 
of  dissipation  and  "good  time,"  and  go  again 
to  the  bears  and  beavers,  until  at  length  a  bul 
let  or  arrow  would  end  all.  One  after  another 
would  be  missed  by  some  friend  or  trader  at 
the  autumn  rendezvous,  reported  killed  by 
the  Indians,  and  —  forgotten.  Some  men  of 
this  class  have,  from  superior  skill  or  fortune, 
escaped  every  danger,  lived  to  a  good  old  age, 

322 


THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON 

and  earned  fame,  and,  by  their  knowledge  of 
the  topography  of  the  vast  West  then  unex 
plored,  have  been  able  to  render  important 
service  to  the  country ;  but  most  of  them  laid 
their  bones  in  the  wilderness  after  a  few  short, 
keen  seasons.  So  great  were  the  perils  that  be 
set  them,  the  average  length  of  the  life  of  a 
"free  trapper7'  has  been  estimated  at  less  than 
five  years.  From  the  Columbia  waters  beaver 
and  beaver  men  have  almost  wholly  passed 
away,  and  the  men  once  so  striking  a  part  of 
the  view  have  left  scarcely  the  faintest  sign  of 
their  existence.  On  the  other  hand,  a  thou 
sand  meadows  on  the  mountains  tell  the  story 
of  the  beavers,  to  remain  fresh  and  green  for 
many  a  century,  monuments  of  their  happy, 
industrious  lives. 

But  there  is  a  little  airy,  elfin  animal  in  these 
woods,  and  in  all  the  evergreen  woods  of  the 
Pacific  Coast,  that  is  more  influential  and 
interesting  than  even  the  beaver.  This  is  the 
Douglas  squirrel  (Sciurus  Douglasi).  Go  where 
you  will  throughout  all  these  noble  forests,  you 
everywhere  find  this  little  squirrel  the  master- 
existence.  Though  only  a  few  inches  long,  so 
intense  is  his  fiery  vigor  and  restlessness,  he 
stirs  every  grove  with  wild  life,  and  makes 
himself  more  important  than  the  great  bears 
that  shuffle  through  the  berry  tangles  beneath 

323 


STEEP  TRAILS 

him.  Every  tree  feels  the  sting  of  his  sharp 
feet.  Nature  has  made  him  master-forester, 
and  committed  the  greater  part  of  the  conif 
erous  crops  to  his  management.  Probably 
over  half  of  all  the  ripe  cones  of  the  spruces, 
firs,  and  pines  are  cut  off  and  handled  by  this 
busy  harvester.  Most  of  them  are  stored  away 
for  food  through  the  winter  and  spring,  but  a 
part  are  pushed  into  shallow  pits  and  covered 
loosely,  where  some  of  the  seeds  are  no  doubt 
left  to  germinate  and  grow  up.  All  the  tree 
squirrels  are  more  or  less  birdlike  in  voice 
and  movements,  but  the  Douglas  is  preemi 
nently  so,  possessing  every  squirrelish  attri 
bute,  fully  developed  and  concentrated.  He  is 
the  squirrel  of  squirrels,  flashing  from  branch 
to  branch  of  his  favorite  evergreens,  crisp  and 
glossy  and  sound  as  a  sunbeam.  He  stirs  the 
leaves  like  a  rustling  breeze,  darting  across 
openings  in  arrowy  lines,  launching  in  curves, 
glinting  deftly  from  side  to  side  in  sudden 
zigzags,  and  swirling  in  giddy  loops  and  spirals 
around  the  trunks,  now  on  his  haunches,  now 
on  his  head,  yet  ever  graceful  and  performing 
all  his  feats  of  strength  and  skill  without  ap 
parent  effort.  One  never  tires  of  this  bright 
spark  of  life,  the  brave  little  voice  crying  in 
the  wilderness.  His  varied,  piney  gossip  is  as 
savory  to  the  air  as  balsam  to  the  palate. 

324 


THE  FORESTS  OF  OREGON 

Some  of  his  notes  are  almost  flutelike  in 
softness,  while  others  prick  and  tingle  like 
thistles.  He  is  the  mockingbird  of  squirrels, 
barking  like  a  dog,  screaming  like  a  hawk, 
whistling  like  a  blackbird  or  linnet,  while 
hi  bluff,  audacious  noisiness  he  is  a  jay.  A 
small  thing,  but  filling  and  animating  all  the 
woods. 

Nor  is  there  any  lack  of  wings,  notwith 
standing  few  are  to  be  seen  on  short,  noisy 
rambles.  The  ousel  sweetens  the  shady  glens 
and  canons  where  waterfalls  abound,  and 
every  grove  or  forest,  however  silent  it  may 
seem  when  we  chance  to  pay  it  a  hasty  visit, 
has  its  singers,  —  thrushes,  linnets,  warblers, 
—  while  hummingbirds  glint  and  hover  about 
the  fringing  masses  of  bloom  around  stream 
and  meadow  openings.  But  few  of  these  will 
show  themselves  or  sing  their  songs  to  those 
who  are  ever  in  haste  and  getting  lost,  going  in 
gangs  formidable  in  color  and  accoutrements, 
laughing,  hallooing,  breaking  limbs  off  the 
trees  as  they  pass,  awkwardly  struggling 
through  briery  thickets,  entangled  like  blue 
bottles  in  spider-webs,  and  stopping  from  time 
to  time  to  fire  off  their  guns  and  pistols  for 
the  sake  of  the  echoes,  thus  frightening  all  the 
life  about  them  for  miles.  It  is  this  class  of 
hunters  and  travelers  who  report  that  there 

325 


STEEP  TRAILS 

are  "no  birds  in  the  woods  or  game  animals 
of  any  kind  larger  than  mosquitoes." 

Besides  the  singing-birds  mentioned  above, 
the  handsome  Oregon  grouse  may  be  found 
in  the  thick  woods,  also  the  dusky  grouse  and 
Franklin's  grouse,  and  in  some  places  the 
beautiful  mountain  partridge,  or  quail.  The 
white-tailed  ptarmigan  lives  on  the  lofty  snow 
peaks  above  the  timber,  and  the  prairie- 
chicken  and  sage-cock  on  the  broad  Columbia 
plains  from  the  Cascade  Range  back  to  the 
foothills  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  bald 
eagle  is  very  common  along  the  Columbia 
River,  or  wherever  fish,  especially  salmon,  are 
plentiful,  while  swans,  herons,  cranes,  pelicans, 
geese,  ducks  of  many  species,  and  water-birds 
in  general  abound  in  the  lake  region,  on  the 
main  streams,  and  along  the  coast,  stirring 
the  waters  and  sky  into  fine,  lively  pictures, 
greatly  to  the  delight  of  wandering  lovers  of 
wildness. 


XXIII 

THE  RIVERS  OF  OREGON 

TURNING  from  the  woods  and  their  inhabi 
tants  to  the  rivers,  we  find  that  while  the  for 
mer  are  rarely  seen  by  travelers  beyond  the 
immediate  borders  of  the  settlements,  the 
great  river  of  Oregon  draws  crowds  of  visitors, 
and  is  never  without  enthusiastic  admirers 
to  sound  its  praises.  Every  summer  since  the 
completion  of  the  first  overland  railroad,  tour 
ists  have  been  coming  to  it  in  ever  increasing 
numbers,  showing  that  in  general  estimation 
the  Columbia  is  one  of  the  chief  attractions 
of  the  Pacific  Coast.  And  well  it  deserves  the 
admiration  so  heartily  bestowed  upon  it.  The 
beauty  and  majesty  of  its  waters,  and  the 
variety  and  grandeur  of  the  scenery  through 
which  it  flows,  lead  many  to  regard  it  as  the 
most  interesting  of  all  the  great  rivers  of  the 
continent,  notwithstanding  the  claims  of  the 
other  members  of  the  family  to  which  it  be 
longs  and  which  nobody  can  measure  —  the 
Fraser,  McKenzie,  Saskatchewan,  the  Mis 
souri,  Yellowstone,  Platte,  and  the  Colorado, 
with  their  glacier  and  geyser  fountains,  their 
famous  canons,  lakes,  forests,  and  vast  flow- 

327 


STEEP  TRAILS 

ery  prairies  and  plains.  These  great  rivers  and 
the  Columbia  are  intimately  related.  All  draw 
their  upper  waters  from  the  same  high  foun 
tains  on  the  broad,  rugged  uplift  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  their  branches  interlacing  like  the 
branches  of  trees.  They  sing  their  first  songs 
together  on  the  heights;  then,  collecting  their 
tributaries,  they  set  out  on  their  grand  jour 
ney  to  the  Atlantic,  Pacific,  or  Arctic  Ocean. 

The  Columbia,  viewed  as  one  from  the  sea 
to  the  mountains,  is  like  a  rugged,  broad- 
topped,  picturesque  old  oak  about  six  hun 
dred  miles  long  and  nearly  a  thousand  miles 
wide  measured  across  the  spread  of  its  upper 
branches,  the  main  limbs  gnarled  and  swollen 
with  lakes  and  lakelike  expansions,  while  in 
numerable  smaller  lakes  shine  like  fruit  among 
the  smaller  branches.  The  main  trunk  extends 
back  through  the  Coast  and  Cascade  Moun 
tains  in  a  general  easterly  direction  for  three 
hundred  miles,  when  it  divides  abruptly  into 
two  grand  branches  which  bend  off  to  the 
northeastward  and  southeastward. 

The  south  branch,  the  longer  of  the  two, 
called  the  Snake,  or  Lewis,  River,  extends  into 
the  Rocky  Mountains  as  far  as  the  Yellow 
stone  National  Park,  where  its  head  tribu 
taries  interlace  with  those  of  the  Colorado, 
Missouri,  and  Yellowstone.  The  north  branch, 

328 


THE  RIVERS  OF  OREGON 

still  called  the  Columbia,  extends  through 
Washington  far  into  British  territory,  its  high 
est  tributaries  reaching  back  through  long 
parallel  spurs  of  the  Rockies  between  and 
beyond  the  headwaters  of  the  Fraser,  Atha 
basca,  and  Saskatchewan.  Each  of  these  main 
branches,  dividing  again  and  again,  spreads 
a  network  of  channels  over  the  vast  compli 
cated  mass  of  the  great  range  throughout  a 
section  nearly  a  thousand  miles  in  length, 
searching  every  fountain,  however  small  or 
great,  and  gathering  a  glorious  harvest  of  crys 
tal  water  to  be  rolled  through  forest  and  plain 
in  one  majestic  flood  to  the  sea,  reinforced  on 
the  way  by  tributaries  that  drain  the  Blue 
Mountains  and  more  than  two  hundred  miles 
of  the  Cascade  and  Coast  Ranges.  Though 
less  than  half  as  long  as  the  Mississippi,  it  is 
said  to  carry  as  much  water.  The  amount  of 
its  discharge  at  different  seasons,  however,  has 
never  been  exactly  measured,  but  in  time  of 
flood  its  current  is  sufficiently  massive  and 
powerful  to  penetrate  the  sea  to  a  distance  of 
fifty  or  sixty  miles  from  shore,  its  waters  being 
easily  recognized  by  the  difference  in  color 
and  by  the  drift  of  leaves,  berries,  pine  cones, 
branches,  and  trunks  of  trees  that  they  carry. 
That  so  large  a  river  as  the  Columbia,  mak 
ing  a  telling  current  so  far  from  shore,  should 

329 


STEEP  TRAILS 

remain  undiscovered  while  one  exploring  ex 
pedition  after  another  sailed  past  seems  re 
markable,  even  after  due  allowance  is  made 
for  the  cloudy  weather  that  prevails  here 
abouts  and  the  broad  fence  of  breakers  drawn 
across  the  bar.  During  the  last  few  centuries, 
when  the  maps  of  the  world  were  in  great  part 
blank,  the  search  for  new  worlds  was  a  fash 
ionable  business,  and  when  such  large  game 
was  no  longer  to  be  found,  islands  lying  un 
claimed  in  the  great  oceans,  inhabited  by  use 
ful  and  profitable  people  to  be  converted  or 
enslaved,  became  attractive  objects;  also  new 
ways  to  India,  seas,  straits,  El  Dorados, 
fountains  of  youth,  and  rivers  that  flowed  over 
golden  sands. 

Those  early  explorers  and  adventurers  were 
mostly  brave,  enterprising,  and,  after  their 
fashion,  pious  men.  In  their  clumsy  sailing- 
vessels  they  dared  to  go  where  no  chart  or 
lighthouse  showed  the  way,  where  the  set  of 
the  currents,  the  location  of  sunken  outlying 
rocks  and  shoals,  were  all  unknown,  facing 
fate  and  weather,  undaunted  however  dark 
the  signs,  heaving  the  lead  and  thrashing  the 
men  to  their  duty  and  trusting  to  Providence. 
When  a  new  shore  was  found  on  which  they 
could  land,  they  said  their  prayers  with  su 
perb  audacity,  fought  the  natives  if  they  cared 

330 


THE  RIVERS  OF  OREGON 

to  fight,  erected  crosses,  and  took  possession 
in  the  names  of  their  sovereigns,  establishing 
claims,  such  as  they  were,  to  everything  in 
sight  and  beyond,  to  be  quarreled  for  and  bat 
tled  for,  and  passed  from  hand  to  hand  in 
treaties  and  settlements  made  during  the 
intermissions  of  war. 

The  branch  of  the  river  that  bears  the  name 
of  Columbia  all  the  way  to  its  head  takes  its 
rise  in  two  lakes  about  ten  miles  in  length  that 
lie  between  the  Selkirk  and  main  ranges  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains  in  British  Columbia,  about 
eighty  miles  beyond  the  boundary-line.  They 
are  called  the  Upper  and  Lower  Columbia 
Lakes.  Issuing  from  these,  the  young  river 
holds  a  nearly  straight  course  for  a  hundred 
and  seventy  miles  in  a  northwesterly  direction 
to  a  plain  called  "Boat  Encampment,"  receiv 
ing  many  beautiful  affluents  by  the  way  from 
the  Selkirk  and  main  ranges,  among  which 
are  the  Beaver-Foot,  Blackberry,  Spill-e-Mee- 
Chene,  and  Gold  Rivers.  At  Boat  Encamp 
ment  it  receives  two  large  tributaries,  the 
Canoe  River  from  the  northwest,  a  stream 
about  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  long;  and 
the  Whirlpool  River  from  the  north,  about  a 
hundred  and  forty  miles  in  length. 

The  Whirlpool  River  takes  its  rise  near  the 
summit  of  the  main  axis  of  the  range  on  the 

331 


STEEP  TRAILS 

fifty-fourth  parallel,  and  is  the  northmost  of 
all  the  Columbia  waters.  About  thirty  miles 
above  its  confluence  with  the  Columbia  it 
flows  through  a  lake  called  the  Punch-Bowl, 
and  thence  it  passes  between  Mounts  Hooker 
and  Brown,  said  to  be  fifteen  thousand  and 
sixteen  thousand  feet  high,  making  magnifi 
cent  scenery;  though  the  height  of  the  moun 
tains  thereabouts  has  been  considerably  over 
estimated.  From  Boat  Encampment  the  river, 
now  a  large,  clear  stream,  said  to  be  nearly 
a  third  of  a  mile  in  width,  doubles  back  on  its 
original  course  and  flows  southward  as  far 
as  its  confluence  with  the  Spokane  hi  Wash 
ington,  a  distance  of  nearly  three  hundred 
miles  in  a  direct  line,  most  of  the  way  through 
a  wild,  rocky,  picturesque  mass  of  mountains, 
charmingly  forested  with  pine  and  spruce  — 
though  the  trees  seem  strangely  small,  like 
second  growth  saplings,  to  one  familiar  with 
the  western  forests  of  Washington,  Oregon, 
and  California. 

About  forty-five  miles  below  Boat  Encamp 
ment  are  the  Upper  Dalles,  or  Dalles  de  Mort, 
and  thirty  miles  farther  the  Lower  Dalles, 
where  the  river  makes  a  magnificent  uproar 
and  interrupts  navigation.  About  thirty  miles 
below  the  Lower  Dalles  the  river  expands  into 
Upper  Arrow  Lake,  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water 

332 


THE  RIVERS  OF  OREGON 

forty  miles  long  and  five  miles  wide,  straight 
as  an  arrow  and  with  the  beautiful  forests  of 
the  Selkirk  range  rising  from  its  east  shore, 
and  those  of  the  Gold  range  from  the  west. 
At  the  foot  of  the  lake  are  the  Narrows,  a  few 
miles  in  length,  and  after  these  rapids  are 
passed,  the  river  enters  Lower  Arrow  Lake, 
which  is  like  the  Upper  Arrow,  but  is  even 
longer  and  not  so  straight. 

A  short  distance  below  the  Lower  Arrow  the 
Columbia  receives  the  Kootenay  River,  the 
largest  affluent  thus  far  on  its  course  and 
said  to  be  navigable  for  small  steamers  for  a 
hundred  and  fifty  miles.  It  is  an  exceedingly 
crooked  stream,  heading  beyond  the  upper 
Columbia  lakes,  and,  in  its 'mazy  course,  flow 
ing  to  all  points  of  the  compass,  it  seems  lost 
and  baffled  in  the  tangle  of  mountain  spurs 
and  ridges  it  drains.  Measured  around  its 
loops  and  bends,  it  is  probably  more  than  five 
hundred  miles  in  length.  It  is  also  rich  in 
lakes,  the  largest,  Kootenay  Lake,  being  up 
wards  of  seventy  miles  in  length  with  an  aver 
age  width  of  five  miles.  A  short  distance  below 
the  confluence  of  the  Kootenay,  near  the 
boundary-line  between  Washington  and  Brit 
ish  Columbia,  another  large  stream  comes  in 
from  the  east,  Clarke's  Fork,  or  the  Flathead 
River.  Its  upper  sources  are  near  those  of  the 

333 


STEEP  TRAILS 

Missouri  and  South  Saskatchewan,  and  in 
its  course  it  flows  through  two  large  and  beau 
tiful  lakes,  the  Flathead  and  the  Pend  d'Oreille. 
All  the  lakes  we  have  noticed  thus  far  would 
make  charming  places  of  summer  resort;  but 
Pend  d'Oreille,  besides  being  surpassingly 
beautiful,  has  the  advantage  of  being  easily 
accessible,  since  it  is  on  the  main  line  of  the 
Northern  Pacific  Railroad  in  the  Territory 
of  Idaho.  In  the  purity  of  its  waters  it  reminds 
one  of  Tahoe,  while  its  many  picturesque 
islands  crowned  with  evergreens,  and  its  wind 
ing  shores  forming  an  endless  variety  of  bays 
and  promontories  lavishly  crowded  with  spirey 
spruce  and  cedar,  recall  some  of  the  best  of 
the  island  scenery  of  Alaska. 

About  thirty-five  miles  below  the  mouth 
of  Clark's  Fork  the  Columbia  is  joined  by  the 
Ne-whoi-al-pit-ku  River  from  the  northwest. 
Here  too  are  the  great  Chaudi£re,  or  Kettle, 
Falls  on  the  main  river,  with  a  total  descent 
of  about  fifty  feet.  Fifty  miles  farther  down, 
the  Spokane  River,  a  clear,  dashing  stream, 
comes  in  from  the  east.  It  is  about  one  hun 
dred  and  twenty  miles  long,  and  takes  its  rise 
in  the  beautiful  Lake  Coeur  d'Alene,  in  Idaho, 
which  receives  the  drainage  of  nearly  a  hundred 
miles  of  the  western  slopes  of  the  Bitter  Root 
Mountains,  through  the  St.  Joseph  and  Coeur 

334 


THE  RIVERS  OF  OREGON 

d'Al£ne  Rivers.  The  lake  is  about  twenty 
miles  long,  set  in  the  midst  of  charming  scen 
ery,  and,  like  Pend  d'Oreille,  is  easy  of  access 
and  is  already  attracting  attention  as  a  sum 
mer  place  for  enjoyment,  rest,  and  health. 

The  famous  Spokane  Falls  are  in  Washing 
ton,  about  thirty  miles  below  the  lake,  where 
the  river  is  outspread  and  divided  and  makes 
a  grand  descent  from  a  level  basaltic  plateau, 
giving  rise  to  one  of  the  most  beautiful  as  well 
as  one  of  the  greatest  and  most  available  of 
water-powers  in  the  State.  The  city  of  the 
same  name  is  built  on  the  plateau  along  both 
sides  of  the  series  of  cascades  and  falls,  which, 
rushing  and  sounding  through  the  midst,  give 
singular  beauty  and  animation.  The  young 
city  is  also  rushing  and  booming.  It  is  founded 
on  a  rock,  leveled  and  prepared  for  it,  and  its 
streets  require  no  grading  or  paving.  As  a 
power  to  whirl  the  machinery  of  a  great  city 
and  at  the  same  time  to  train  the  people  to  a 
love  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful  as  displayed 
in  living  water,  the  Spokane  Falls  are  unri 
valled,  at  least  as  far  as  my  observation  has 
reached.  Nowhere  else  have  I  seen  such  les 
sons  given  by  a  river  in  the  streets  of  a  city, 
such  a  glad,  exulting,  abounding  outgush, 
crisp  and  clear  from  the  mountains,  dividing, 
falling,  displaying  its  wealth,  calling  aloud  in 

335 


STEEP  TRAILS 

the  midst  of  the  busy  throng,  and  making 
glorious  offerings  for  every  use  of  utility  or 
adornment. 

From  the  mouth  of  the  Spokane  the  Colum 
bia,  now  out  of  the  woods,  flows  to  the  west 
ward  with  a  broad,  stately  current  for  a  hun 
dred  and  twenty  miles  to  receive  the  Okina- 
gan,  a  large,  generous  tributary  a  hundred  and 
sixty  miles  long,  coming  from  the  north  and 
drawing  some  of  its  waters  from  the  Cascade 
Range.  More  than  half  its  course  is  through  a 
chain  of  lakes,  the  largest  of  which  at  the  head 
of  the  river  is  over  sixty  miles  in  length.  From 
its  confluence  with  the  Okinagan  the  river 
pursues  a  southerly  course  for  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles,  most  of  the  way  through  a  dreary, 
treeless,  parched  plain  to  meet  the  great  south 
fork.  The  Lewis,  or  Snake,  River  is  nearly  a 
thousand  miles  long  and  drains  nearly  the 
whole  of  Idaho,  a  territory  rich  in  scenery, 
gold  mines,  flowery,  grassy  valleys,  and  des 
erts,  while  some  of  the  highest  tributaries 
reach  into  Wyoming,  Utah,  and  Nevada. 
Throughout  a  great  part  of  its  course  it  is 
countersunk  in  a  black  lava  plain  and  shut 
in  by  mural  precipices  a  thousand  feet  high, 
gloomy,  forbidding,  and  unapproachable,  al 
though  the  gloominess  of  its  canon  is  relieved 
in  some  manner  by  its  many  falls  and  springs, 

336 


THE  RIVERS  OF  OREGON 

some  of  the  springs  being  large  enough  to  ap 
pear  as  the  outlets  of  subterranean  rivers.  They 
gush  out  from  the  faces  of  the  sheer  black  walls 
and  descend  foaming  with  brave  roar  and 
beauty  to  swell  the  flood  below. 

From  where  the  river  skirts  the  base  of  the 
Blue  Mountains  its  surroundings  are  less  for 
bidding.  Much  of  the  country  is  fertile,  but 
its  canon  is  everywhere  deep  and  almost  in 
accessible.  Steamers  make  their  way  up  as 
far  as  Lewiston,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  and 
receive  cargoes  of  wheat  at  different  points 
through  chutes  that  extend  down  from  the 
tops  of  the  bluffs.  But  though  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  navigated  the  north  fork  to  its 
sources,  they  depended  altogether  on  pack- 
animals  for  the  transportation  of  supplies  and 
furs  between  the  Columbia  and  Fort  Hall  on 
the  head  of  the  south  fork,  which  shows  how 
desperately  unmanageable  a  river  it  must  be. 

A  few  miles  above  the  mouth  of  the  Snake 
the  Yakima,  which  drains  a  considerable  por 
tion  of  the  Cascade  Range,  enters  from  the 
northwest.  It  is  about  a  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  long,  but  carries  comparatively  little 
water,  a  great  part  of  what  it  sets  out  with 
from  the  base  of  the  mountains  being  con 
sumed  in  irrigated  fields  and  meadows  in  pass 
ing  through  the  settlements  along  its  course, 

337 


STEEP  TRAILS 

and  by  evaporation  on  the  parched  desert 
plains.  The  grand  flood  of  the  Columbia,  now 
from  half  a  mile  to  a  mile  wide,  sweeps  on  to 
the  westward,  holding  a  nearly  direct  course 
until  it  reaches  the  mouth  of  the  Willamette, 
where  it  turns  to  the  northward  and  flows 
fifty  miles  along  the  main  valley  between  the 
Coast  and  Cascade  Ranges  ere  it  again  resumes 
its  westward  course  to  the  sea.  In  all  its  course 
from  the  mouth  of  the  Yakima  to  the  sea,  a 
distance  of  three  hundred  miles,  the  only  con 
siderable  affluent  from  the  northward  is  the 
Cowlitz,  which  heads  in  the  glaciers  of  Mount 
Rainier. 

From  the  south  and  east  it  receives  the 
Walla- Walla  and  Umatilla,  rather  short  and 
dreary-looking  streams,  though  the  plains 
they  pass  through  have  proved  fertile,  and 
their  upper  tributaries  in  the  Blue  Moun 
tains,  shaded  with  tall  pines,  firs,  spruces,  and 
the  beautiful  Oregon  larch  (Larix  brew/olid), 
lead  into  a  delightful  region.  The  John  Day 
River  also  heads  in  the  Blue  Mountains,  and 
flows  into  the  Columbia  sixty  miles  below  the 
mouth  of  the  Umatilla.  Its  valley  is  in  great 
part  fertile,  and  is  noted  for  the  interesting 
fossils  discovered  in  it  by  Professor  Condon 
in  sections  cut  by  the  river  through  the  over 
lying  lava-beds. 

338 


THE  RIVERS  OF  OREGON 

The  Deschutes  River  comes  in  from  the 
south  about  twenty  miles  below  the  John  Day. 
It  is  a  large,  boisterous  stream',  draining  the 
eastern  slope  of  the  Cascade  Range  for  nearly 
two  hundred  miles,  and  from  the  great  num 
ber  of  falls  on  the  main  trunk,  as  well  as  on 
its  many  mountain  tributaries,  well  deserves 
its  name.  It  enters  the  Columbia  with  a  grand 
roar  of  falls  and  rapids,  and  at  times  seems 
almost  to  rival  the  main  stream  in  the  volume 
of  water  it  carries.  Near  the  mouth  of  the 
Deschutes  are  the  Falls  of  the  Columbia, 
where  the  river  passes  a  rough  bar  of  lava. 
The  descent  is  not  great,  but  the  immense  vol 
ume  of  water  makes  a  grand  display.  During 
the  flood-season  the  falls  are  obliterated  and 
skillful  boatmen  pass  over  them  in  safety;  while 
the  Dalles,  some  six  or  eight  miles  below,  may  be 
passed  during  low  water  but  are  utterly  impas 
sable  in  flood-time.  At  the  Dalles  the  vast  river 
is  jammed  together  into  a  long,  narrow  slot  of 
unknown  depth  cut  sheer  down  in  the  basalt. 

This  slot,  or  trough,  is  about  a  mile  and  a 
half  long  and  about  sixty  yards  wide  at  the 
narrowest  place.  At  ordinary  times  the  river 
seems  to  be  set  on  edge  and  runs  swiftly  but 
without  much  noisy  surging  with  a  descent 
of  about  twenty  feet  to  the  mile.  But  when 
the  snow  is  melting  on  the  mountains  the 

339 


STEEP  TRAILS 

river  rises  here  sixty  feet,  or  even  more  during 
extraordinary  freshets,  and  spreads  out  over 
a  great  breadth  of  massive  rocks  through 
which  have  been  cut  several  other  gorges  run 
ning  parallel  with  the  one  usually  occupied. 
All  these  inferior  gorges  now  come  into  use, 
and  the  huge,  roaring  torrent,  still  rising  and 
spreading,  at  length  overwhelms  the  high 
jagged  rock  walls  between  them,  making  a 
tremendous  display  of  chafing,  surging,  shat 
tered  currents,  counter-currents,  and  hollow 
whirls  that  no  words  can  be  made  to  describe. 
A  few  miles  below  the  Dalles  the  storm-tossed 
river  gets  itself  together  again,  looks  like 
water,  becomes  silent,  and  with  stately,  tran 
quil  deliberation  goes  on  its  way,  out  of  the 
gray  region  of  sage  and  sand  into  the  Oregon 
woods.  Thirty-five  or  forty  miles  below  the 
Dalles  are  the  Cascades  of  the  Columbia, 
where  the  river  in  passing  through  the  moun 
tains  makes  another  magnificent  display  of 
foaming,  surging  rapids,  which  form  the  first 
obstruction  to  navigation  from  the  ocean,  a 
hundred  and  twenty  miles  distant.  This  ob 
struction  is  to  be  overcome  by  locks,  which 
are  now  being  made. 

Between  the  Dalles  and  the  Cascades  the 
river  is  like  a  lake  a  mile  or  two  wide,  lying 
in  a  valley,  or  canon,  about  three  thousand  feet 
340 


THE  RIVERS  OP  OREGON 

deep.  The  walls  of  the  canon  lean  well  back 
in  most  places,  and  leave  here  and  there  small 
strips,  or  bays,  of  level  ground  along  the  wa 
ter's  edge.  But  towards  the  Cascades,  and 
for  some  distance  below  them,  the  immediate 
banks  are  guarded  by  walls  of  columnar  ba 
salt,  which  are  worn  in  many  places  into  a 
great  variety  of  bold  and  picturesque  forms, 
such  as  the  Castle  Rock,  the  Rooster  Rock, 
the  Pillars  of  Hercules,  Cape  Horn,  etc.,  while 
back  of  these  rise  the  sublime  mountain-walls, 
forest-crowned  and  fringed  more  or  less  from 
top  to  base  with  pine,  spruce,  and  shaggy 
underbrush,  especially  in  the  narrow  gorges  and 
ravines,  where  innumerable  small  streams 
come  dancing  and  drifting  down,  misty  and 
white,  to  join  the  mighty  river.  Many  of 
these  falls  on  both  sides  of  the  canon  of  the 
Columbia  are  far  larger  and  more  interesting 
in  every  way  than  would  be  guessed  from  the 
slight  glimpses  one  gets  of  them  while  sailing 
past  on  the  river,  or  from  the  car  windows. 
The  Multnomah  Falls  are  particularly  inter 
esting,  and  occupy  fern-lined  gorges  of  marvel 
ous  beauty  in  the  basalt.  They  are  said  to  be 
about  eight  hundred  feet  in  height  and,  at 
times  of  high  water  when  the  mountain  snows 
are  melting,  are  well  worthy  of  a  place  beside 
the  famous  falls  of  the  Yosemite  Valley. 
341 


STEEP  TRAILS 

According  to  an  Indian  tradition,  the  river 
of  the  Cascades  once  flowed  through  the  ba 
salt  beneath  a  natural  bridge  that  was  broken 
down  during  a  mountain  war,  when  the  old 
volcanoes,  Hood  and  St.  Helen's,  on  opposite 
sides  of  the  river,  hurled  rocks  at  each  other, 
thus  forming  a  dam.  That  the  river  has  been 
dammed  here  to  some  extent,  and  within  a 
comparatively  short  period,  seems  probable, 
to  say  the  least,  since  great  numbers  of  sub 
merged  trees  standing  erect  may  be  found 
along  both  shores,  while,  as  we  have  seen,  the 
whole  river  for  thirty  miles  above  the  Cas 
cades  looks  like  a  lake  or  mill-pond.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  is  held  by  some  that  the  sub 
merged  groves  were  carried  into  their  places 
by  immense  landslides. 

Much  of  interest  in  this  connection  must 
necessarily  be  omitted  for  want  of  space. 
About  forty  miles  below  the  Cascades  the 
river  receives  the  Willamette,  the  last  of  its 
great  tributaries.  It  is  navigable  for  ocean 
vessels  as  far  as  Portland,  ten  miles  above  its 
mouth,  and  for  river  steamers  a  hundred 
miles  farther.  The  Falls  of  the  Willamette 
are  fifteen  miles  above  Portland,  where  the 
river,  coming  out  of  dense  woods,  breaks  its 
way  across  a  bar  of  black  basalt  and  falls 
forty  feet  in  a  passion  of  snowy  foam,  showing 

342 


THE  RIVERS  OF  OREGON 

to  fine  advantage  against  its  background  of 
evergreens. 

Of  the  fertility  and  beauty  of  the  Willam 
ette  all  the  world  has  heard.  It  lies  between 
the  Cascade  and  Coast  Ranges,  and  is  bounded 
on  the  south  by  the  Calapooya  Mountains,  a 
cross-spur  that  separates  it  from  the  valley  of 
the  Umpqua. 

It  was  here  the  first  settlements  for  agri 
culture  were  made  and  a  provisional  govern 
ment  organized,  while  the  settlers,  isolated 
in  the  far  wilderness,  numbered  only  a  few 
thousand  and  were  laboring  under  the  oppo 
sition  of  the  'British  Government  and  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company.  Eager  desire  in  the 
acquisition  of  territory  on  the  part  of  these 
pioneer  state-builders  was  more  truly  bound 
less  than  the  wilderness  they  were  in,  and  their 
unconscionable  patriotism  was  equaled  only 
by  their  belligerence.  For  here,  while  nego 
tiations  were  pending  for  the  location  of  the 
northern  boundary,  originated  the  celebrated 
"Fifty-four  forty  or  fight,"  about  as  reasonable 
a  war-cry  as  the  "North  Pole  or  fight."  Yet 
sad  was  the  day  that  brought  the  news  of  the 
signing  of  the  treaty  fixing  their  boundary 
along  the  forty-ninth  parallel,  thus  leaving 
the  little  land-hungry  settlement  only  a  mere 
quarter-million  of  miles! 

343 


STEEP  TRAILS 

As  the  Willamette  is  one  of  the  most  food- 
ful  of  valleys,  so  is  the  Columbia  one  of  the 
most  foodful  of  rivers.  During  the  fisher's 
harvest-time  salmon  from  the  sea  come  in 
countless  millions,  urging  their  way  against 
falls,  rapids,  and  shallows,  up  into  the  very 
heart  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  supplying 
everybody  by  the  way  with  most  bountiful 
masses  of  delicious  food,  weighing  from  twenty 
to  eighty  pounds  each,  plump  and  smooth 
like  loaves  of  bread  ready  for  the  oven.  The 
supply  seemed  inexhaustible,  as  well  it  might. 
Large  quantities  were  used  by  the  Indians  as 
fuel,  and  by  the  Hudson's  Bay  people  as  manure 
for  their  gardens  at  the  forts.  Used,  wasted, 
canned  and  sent  in  shiploads  to  all  the  world, 
a  grand  harvest  was  reaped  every  year  while 
nobody  sowed.  Of  late,  however,  the  salmon 
crop  has  begun  to  fail,  and  millions  of  young 
fry  are  now  sown  like  wheat  in  the  river  every 
year,  from  hatching-establishments  belonging 
to  the  Government. 

All  of  the  Oregon  waters  that  win  their  way 
to  the  sea  are  tributary  to  the  Columbia,  save 
the  short  streams  of  the  immediate  coast,  and 
the  Umpqua  and  Rogue  Rivers  in  southern 
Oregon.  These  both  head  in  the  Cascade 
Mountains  and  find  their  way  to  the  sea 
through  gaps  in  the  Coast  Range,  and  both 

344 


THE  RIVERS  OF  OREGON 

drain  large  and  fertile  and  beautiful  valleys. 
Rogue  River  Valley  is  peculiarly  attractive. 
With  a  fine  climate,  and  kindly,  productive 
soil,  the  scenery  is  delightful.  About  the  main, 
central  open  portion  of  the  basin,  dotted  with 
picturesque  groves  of  oak,  there  are  many 
smaller  valleys  charmingly  environed,  the 
whole  surrounded  in  the  distance  by  the  Sis- 
kiyou,  Coast,  Umpqua,  and  Cascade  Moun 
tains.  Besides  the  cereals  nearly  every  sort  of 
fruit  flourishes  here,  and  large  areas  are  being 
devoted  to  peach,  apricot,  nectarine,  and  vine 
culture.  To  me  it  seems  above  all  others  the 
garden  valley  of  Oregon  and  the  most  delight 
ful  place  for  a  home.  On  the  eastern  rim  of 
the  valley,  in  the  Cascade  Mountains,  about 
sixty  miles  from  Medford  in  a  direct  line,  is 
the  remarkable  Crater  Lake,  usually  regarded 
as  the  one  grand  wonder  of  the  region.  It  lies 
in  a  deep,  sheer-walled  basin  about  seven  thou 
sand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  supposed 
to  be  the  crater  of  an  extinct  volcano. 

Oregon  as  it  is  to-day  is  a  very  young  coun 
try,  though  most  of  it  seems  old.  Contem 
plating  the  Columbia  sweeping  from  forest  to 
forest,  across  plain  and  desert,  one  is  led  to 
say  of  it,  as  did  Byron  of  the  ocean,  — 

"  Such  as  Creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now." 
345 


STEEP  TRAILS 

How  ancient  appear  the  crumbling  basaltic 
monuments  along  its  banks,  and  the  gray 
plains  to  the  east  of  the  Cascades!  Neverthe 
less,  the  river  as  well  as  its  basin  in  anything 
like  their  present  condition  are  comparatively 
but  of  yesterday.  Looming  no  further  back 
in  the  \  geological  records  than  the  Tertiary- 
Period,  the  Oregon  of  that  tune  looks  alto 
gether  strange  in  the  few  suggestive  glimpses 
we  may  get  of  it  —  forests  in  which  palm  trees 
wave  their  royal  crowns,  and  strange  animals 
roaming  beneath  them  or  about  the  reedy 
margins  of  lakes,  the  oreodon,  the  lophiodon, 
and  several  extinct  species  of  the  horse,  the 
camel,  and  other  animals. 

Then  came  the  fire  period  with  its  darkening 
showers  of  ashes  and  cinders  and  its  vast 
floods  of  molten  lava,  making  quite  another 
Oregon  from  the  fair  and  fertile  land  of  the 
preceding  era.  And  again,  while  yet  the  vol 
canic  fires  show  signs  of  action  in  the  smoke 
and  flame  of  the  higher  mountains,  the  whole 
region  passes  under  the  dominion  of  ice,  and 
from  the  frost  and  darkness  and  death  of  the 
Glacial  Period,  Oregon  has  but  recently 
emerged  to  the  kindly  warmth  and  life  of 
to-day. 


XXIV 

THE  GRAND  CANON  OF  THE  COLORADO 

HAPPY  nowadays  is  the  tourist,  with  earth's 
wonders,  new  and  old,  spread  invitingly  open 
before  him,  and  a  host  of  able  workers  as  his 
slaves  making  everything  easy,  padding  plush 
about  him,  grading  roads  for  him,  boring 
tunnels,  moving  hills  out  of  his  way,  eager, 
like  the  Devil,  to  show  him  all  the  kingdoms 
of  the  world  and  their  glory  and  foolishness, 
spiritualizing  travel  for  him  with  lightning  and 
steam,  abolishing  space  and  time  and  almost 
everything  else.  Little  children  and  tender, 
pulpy  people,  as  well  as  storm-seasoned  ex 
plorers,  may  now  go  almost  everywhere  in 
smooth  comfort,  cross  oceans  and  deserts 
scarce  accessible  to  fishes  and  birds,  and, 
dragged  by  steel  horses,  go  up  high  mountains, 
riding  gloriously  beneath  starry  showers  of 
sparks,  ascending  like  Elijah  in  a  whirlwind 
and  chariot  of  fire. 

First  of  the  wonders  of  the  great  West  to 
be  brought  within  reach  of  the  tourist  were 
the  Yosemite  and  the  Big  Trees,  on  the  com 
pletion  of  the  first  transcontinental  railway; 
next  came  the  Yellowstone  and  icy  Alaska, 

347 


STEEP  TRAILS 

by  the  northern  roads;  and  last  the  Grand 
Canon  of  the  Colorado,  which,  naturally  the 
hardest  to  reach,  has  now  become,  by  a  branch 
of  the  Santa  Fe",  the  most  accessible  of  all. 

Of  course,  with  this  wonderful  extension  of 
steel  ways  through  our  wildness  there  is  loss 
as  well  as  gain.  Nearly  all  railroads  are  bor 
dered  by  belts  of  desolation.  The  finest  wil 
derness  perishes  as  if  stricken  with  pestilence. 
Bird  and  beast  people,  if  not  the  dryads,  are 
frightened  from  the  groves.  Too  often  the 
groves  also  vanish,  leaving  nothing  but  ashes. 
Fortunately,  nature  has  a  few  big  places  be 
yond  man's  power  to  spoil  —  the  ocean,  the 
two  icy  ends  of  the  globe,  and  the  Grand 
Canon. 

'  When  I  first  heard  of  the  Santa  F6  trains 
running  to  the  edge  of  the  Grand  Canon  of 
Arizona,  I  was  troubled  with  thoughts  of  the 
disenchantment  likely  to  follow.  But  last 
winter,  when  I  saw  those  trains  crawling  along 
through  the  pines  of  the  Coconino  Forest  and 
close  up  to  the  brink  of  the  chasm  at  Bright 
Angel,  I  was  glad  to  discover  that  in  the 
presence  of  sucft  stupendous  scenery  they  are 
nothing.  The  locomotives  and  trains  are  mere 
beetles  and  caterpillars,  and  the  noise  they 
make  is  as  little  disturbing  as  the  hooting  of 
an  owl  in  the  lonely  woods. 

348 


THE  GRAND  CANON  AT  O'NEILL'S  POINT 


THE  GRAND  CANON* 

In  a  dry,  hot,  monotonous  forested  plateau, 
seemingly  boundless,  you  come  suddenly  and 
without  warning  upon  the  abrupt  edge  of  a 
gigantic  sunken  landscape  of  the  wildest,  most 
multitudinous  features,  and  those  features, 
sharp  and  angular,  are  made  out  of  flat  beds  of 
limestone  and  sandstone  forming  a  spiry,  jag 
ged,  gloriously  colored  mountain-range  coun 
tersunk  in  a  level  gray  plain.  It  is  a  hard  job 
to  sketch  it  even  in  scrawniest  outline;  and, 
try  as  I  may,  not  in  the  least  sparing  myself, 
I  cannot  tell  the  hundredth  part  of  the  won 
ders  of  its  features  —  the  side-canons,  gorges, 
alcoves,  cloisters,  and  amphitheaters  of  vast 
sweep  and  depth,  carved  in  its  magnificent 
walls;  the  throng  of  great  architectural  rocks 
it  contains  resembling  castles,  cathedrals, 
temples,  and  palaces,  towered  and  spired  and 
painted,  some  of  them  nearly  a  mile  high,  yet 
beneath  one's  feet.  All  this,  however,  is  less 
difficult  than  to  give  any  idea  of  the  impres 
sion  of  wild,  primeval  beauty  and  power  one 
receives  in  merely  gazing  from  its  brink.  The 
view  down  the  gulf  of  color  and  over  the  run 
of  its  wonderful  wall,  more  than  any  other 
view  I  know,  leads  us  to  think  of  our  earth  as 
a  star  with  stars  swimming  in  light,  every 
radiant  spire  pointing  the  way  to  the  heavens. 

But  it  is  impossible   to  conceive  what  the 

349 


STEEP  TRAILS 

canon  is,  or  what  impression  it  makes,  from 
descriptions  or  pictures,  however  good.  Nat 
urally  it  is  untellable  even  to  those  who  have 
seen  something  perhaps  a  little  like  it  on  a 
small  scale  in  this  same  plateau  region.  One's 
most  extravagant  expectations  are  indefi 
nitely  surpassed,  though  one  expects  much 
from  what  is  said  of  it  as  "the  biggest  chasm 
on  earth"  —  "so  big  is  it  that  all  other  big 
things  —  Yosemite,  the  Yellowstone,  the  Pyra 
mids,  Chicago  —  all  would  be  lost  if  tumbled 
into  it."  Naturally  enough,  illustrations  as  to 
size  are  sought  for  among  other  canons  like  or 
unlike  it,  with  the  common  result  of  worse  con 
founding  confusion.  The  prudent  keep  silence. 
It  was  once  said  that  the  "Grand  Canon  could 
put  a  dozen  Yosemites  in  its  vest  pocket." 

The  justly  famous  Grand  Canon  of  the 
Yellowstone  is,  like  the  Colorado,  gorgeously 
colored  and  abruptly  countersunk  in  a  pla 
teau,  and  both  are  mainly  the  work  of  water. 
But  the  Colorado's  canon  is  more  than  a  thou 
sand  times  larger,  and  as  a  score  or  two  of  new 
buildings  of  ordinary  size  would  not  appre 
ciably  change  the  general  view  of  a  great  city, 
so  hundreds  of  Yellowstones  might  be  eroded 
in  the  sides  of  the  Colorado  Canon  without 
noticeably  augmenting  its  size  or  the  richness 
of  its  sculpture. 

350 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

But  it  is  not  true  that  the  great  Yosemite 
rocks  would  be  thus  lost  or  hidden.  Nothing 
of  their  kind  in  the  world,  so  far  as  I  know, 
rivals  El  Capitan  and  Tissiack,  much  less 
dwarfs  or  in  any  way  belittles  them.  None 
of  the  sandstone  or  limestone  precipices  of 
the  canon  that  I  have  seen  or  heard  of  ap 
proaches  in  smooth,  flawless  strength  and 
grandeur  the  granite  face  of  El  Capitan  or 
the  Tenaya  side  of  Cloud's  Rest.  These  co 
lossal  cliffs,  types  of  permanence,  are  about 
three  thousand  and  six  thousand  feet  high; 
those  of  the  canon  that  are  sheer  are  about 
half  as  high,  and  are  types  of  fleeting  change; 
while  glorious-domed  Tissiack,  noblest  of 
mountain  buildings,  far  from  being  over 
shadowed  or  lost  in  this  rosy,  spiry  canon 
company,  would  draw  every  eye,  and,  in 
serene  majesty,  "aboon  them  a'  "  she  would 
take  her  place  —  castle,  temple,  palace,  or 
tower.  Nevertheless  a  noted  writer,  com 
paring  the  Grand  Canon  in  a  general  way 
with  the  glacial  Yosemite,  says:  "And  the 
Yosemite  —  ah,  the  lovely  Yosemite!  Dumped 
down  into  the  wilderness  of  gorges  and  moun 
tains,  it  would  take  a  guide  who  knew  of  its 
existence  a  long  time  to  find  it."  This  is  strik 
ing,  and  shows  up  well  above  the  levels  of  com 
monplace  description ;  but  it  is  confusing,  and 

351 


STEEP  TRAILS 

has  the  fatal  fault  of  not  being  true.  As  well 
try  to  describe  an  eagle  by  putting  a  lark  in 
it.  "And,  the  lark  —  ah,  the  lovely  lark! 
Dumped  down  the  red,  royal  gorge  of  the 
eagle,  it  would  be  hard  to  find."  Each  in  its 
own  place  is  better,  singing  at  heaven's  gate, 
and  sailing  the  sky  with  the  clouds. 

Every  feature  of  Nature's  big  face  is  beau 
tiful,  —  height  and  hollow,  wrinkle,  furrow, 
and  line,  —  and  this  is  the  main  master-furrow 
of  its  kind  on  our  continent,  incomparably 
greater  and  more  impressive  than  any  other 
yet  discovered,  or  likely  to  be  discovered,  now 
that  all  the  great  rivers  have  been  traced  to 
their  heads. 

The  Colorado  River  rises  in  the  heart  of  the 
continent  on  the  dividing  ranges  and  ridges 
between  the  two  oceans,  drains  thousands  of 
snowy  mountains  through  narrow  or  spacious 
valleys,  and  thence  through  canons  of  every 
color,  sheer-walled  and  deep,  all  of  which 
seem  to  be  represented  in  this  one  grand  canon 
of  canons. 

It  is  very  hard  to  give  anything  like  an  ade 
quate  conception  of  its  size;  much  more  of 
its  color,  its  vast  wall-sculpture,  the  wealth 
of  ornate  architectural  buildings  that  fill  it, 
or,  most  of  all,  the  tremendous  impression  it 
makes.  According  to  Major  Powell,  it  is  about 

352 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

two  hundred  and  seventeen  miles  long,  from 
five  to  fifteen  miles  wide  from  rim  to  rim,  and 
from  about  five  thousand  to  six  thousand  feet 
deep.  So  tremendous  a  chasm  would  be  one 
of  the  world's  greatest  wonders  even  if,  like 
ordinary  canons  cut  in  sedimentary  rocks,  it 
were  empty  and  its  walls  were  simple.  But 
instead  of  being  plain,  the  walls  are  so  deeply 
and  elaborately  carved  into  all  sorts  of  re 
cesses  —  alcoves,  cirques,  amphitheaters,  and 
side-canons  —  that,  were  you  to  trace  the  run 
closely  around  on  both  sides,  your  journey 
would  be  nearly  a  thousand  miles  long.  Into 
all  these  recesses  the  level,  continuous  beds 
of  rock  in  ledges  and  benches,  with  their  vari 
ous  colors,  run  like  broad  ribbons,  marvelously 
beautiful  and  effective  even  at  a  distance  of 
ten  or  twelve  miles.  And  the  vast  space  these 
glorious  walls  inclose,  instead  of  being  empty, 
is  crowded  with  gigantic  architectural  rock- 
forms  gorgeously  colored  and  adorned  with 
towers  and  spires  like  works  of  art. 

Looking  down  from  this  level  plateau,  we 
are  more  impressed  with  a  feeling  of  being  on 
the  top  of  everything  than  when  looking  from 
the  summit  of  a  mountain.  From  side  to  side 
of  the  vast  gulf,  temples,  palaces,  towers,  and 
spires  come  soaring  up  in  thick  array  half  a 
mile  or  nearly  a  mile  above  their  sunken,  hid- 

353 


STEEP  TRAILS 

den  bases,  some  to  a  level  with  our  standpoint, 
but  none  higher.  And  in  the  inspiring  morning 
light  all  are  so  fresh  and  rosy-looking  that  they 
seem  new-born;  as  if,  like  the  quick-growing 
crimson  snow-plants  of  the  California  woods, 
they  had  just  sprung  up,  hatched  by  the 
warm,  brooding,  motherly  weather. 

In  trying  to  describe  the  great  pines  and 
sequoias  of  the  Sierra,  I  have  often  thought 
that  if  one  of  these  trees  could  be  set  by  itself 
in  some  city  park,  its  grandeur  might  there  be 
impressively  realized;  while  in  its  home  for 
ests,  where  all  magnitudes  are  great,  the  weary, 
satiated  traveler  sees  none  of  them  truly.  It 
is  so  with  these  majestic  rock  structures. 

Though  mere  residual  masses  of  the  plateau, 
they  are  dowered  with  the  grandeur  and  re 
pose  of  mountains,  together  with  the  finely 
chiseled  carving  and  modeling  of  man's  tem 
ples  and  palaces,  and  often,  to  a  considerable 
extent,  with  their  symmetry.  Some,  closely 
observed,  look  like  ruins;  but  even  these  stand 
plumb  and  true,  and  show  architectural  forms 
loaded  with  lines  strictly  regular  and  decora 
tive,  and  all  are  arrayed  in  colors  that  storms 
and  time  seem  only  to  brighten.  They  are 
not  placed  in  regular  rows  hi  line  with  the 
river,  but  "a'  through  ither,"  as  the  Scotch 
say,  in  lavish,  exuberant  crowds,  as  if  nature 

354 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

in  wildest  extravagance  held  her  bravest 
structures  as  common  as  gravel-piles.  Yon 
der  stands  a  spiry  cathedral  nearly  five  thou 
sand  feet  in  height,  nobly  symmetrical,  with 
sheer  buttressed  walls  and  arched  doors  and 
windows,  as  richly  finished  and  decorated  with 
sculptures  as  the  great  rock  temples  of  India 
or  Egypt.  Beside  it  rises  a  huge  castle  with 
arched  gateway,  turrets,  watch-towers,  ram 
parts,  etc.,  and  to  right  and  left  palaces,  obe 
lisks,  and  pyramids  fairly  fill  the  gulf,  all  colos 
sal  and  all  lavishly  painted  and  carved.  Here 
and  there  a  flat-topped  structure  may  be  seen, 
or  one  imperfectly  domed;  but  the  prevailing 
style  is  ornate  Gothic,  with  many  hints  of 
Egyptian  and  Indian. 

Throughout  this  vast  extent  of  wild  archi 
tecture  —  nature's  own  capital  city  —  there 
seem  to  be  no  ordinary  dwellings.  All  look  like 
grand  and  important  public  structures,  except 
perhaps  some  of  the  lower  pyramids,  broad- 
based  and  sharp-pointed,  covered  with  down- 
flowing  talus  like  loosely  set  tents  with  hollow, 
sagging  sides.  The  roofs  often  have  disinte 
grated  rocks  heaped  and  draggled  over  them, 
but  in  the  main  the  masonry  is  firm  and  laid 
in  regular  courses,  as  if  done  by  square  and 
rule. 

Nevertheless  they  are  ever  changing:  their 
355 


STEEP  TRAILS 

tops  are  now  a  dome,  now  a  flat  table  or  a 
spire,  as  harder  or  softer  strata  are  reached 
in  their  slow  degradation,  while  the  sides,  with 
all  their  fine  moldings,  are  being  steadily  un 
dermined  and  eaten  away.  But  no  essential 
change  in  style  or  color  is  thus  effected.  From 
century  to  century  they  stand  the  same.  What 
seems  confusion  among  the  rough  earthquake- 
shaken  crags  nearest  one  comes  to  order  as 
soon  as  the  main  plan  of  the  various  structures 
appears.  Every  building,  however  compli 
cated  and  laden  with  ornamental  lines,  is  at 
one  with  itself  and  every  one  of  its  neighbors, 
for  the  same  characteristic  controlling  belts 
of  color  and  solid  strata  extend  with  wonder 
ful  constancy  for  very  great  distances,  and 
pass  through  and  give  style  to  thousands  of 
separate  structures,  however  their  smaller 
characters  may  vary. 

Of  all  the  various  kinds  of  ornamental  work 
displayed  —  carving,  tracery  on  cliff-faces, 
moldings,  arches,  pinnacles  —  none  is  more 
admirably  effective  or  charms  more  than  the 
webs  of  rain-channeled  taluses.  Marvelously 
extensive,  without  the  slightest  appearance  of 
waste  or  excess,  they  cover  roofs  and  dome- 
tops  and  the  base  of  every  cliff,  belt  each  spire 
and  pyramid  and  massy,  towering  temple, 
and  in  beautiful  continuous  lines  go  sweeping 

356 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

along  the  great  walls  in  and  out  around  all 
the  intricate  system  of  side-canons,  amphi 
theaters,  cirques,  and  scallops  into  which  they 
are  sculptured.  From  one  point  hundreds 
of  miles  of  this  fairy  embroidery  may  be 
traced.  It  is  all  so  fine  and  orderly  that  it 
would  seem  that  not  only  had  the  clouds  and 
streams  been  kept  harmoniously  busy  in  the 
making  of  it,  but  that  every  raindrop  sent 
like  a  bullet  to  a  mark  had  been  the  sub 
ject  of  a  separate  thought,  so  sure  is  the  out 
come  of  beauty  through  the  stormy  centuries. 
Surely  nowhere  else  are  there  illustrations  so 
striking  of  the  natural  beauty  of  desolation 
and  death,  so  many  of  nature's  own  mountain 
buildings  wasting  in  glory  of  high  desert  air 
—  going  to  dust.  See  how  steadfast  in  beauty 
they  all  are  in  their  going.  Look  again  and 
again  how  the  rough,  dusty  boulders  and  sand 
of  disintegration  from  the  upper  ledges  wreathe 
hi  beauty  the  next  and  next  below  with  these 
wonderful  taluses,  and  how  the  colors  are  finer 
the  faster  the  waste.  We  oftentimes  see  Nature 
giving  beauty  for  ashes  —  as  in  the  flowers  of  a 
prairie  after  fire  —  but  here  the  very  dust  and 
ashes  are  beautiful. 

Gazing  across  the  mighty  chasm,  we  at  last 
discover  that  it  is  not  its  great  depth  nor 
length,  nor  yet  these  wonderful  buildings,  that 

357 


STEEP  TRAILS 

most  impresses  us.  It  is  its  immense  width, 
sharply  defined  by  precipitous  walls  plunging 
suddenly  down  from  a  flat  plain,  declaring  in 
terms  instantly  apprehended  that  the  vast 
gulf  is  a  gash  hi  the  once  unbroken  plateau, 
made  by  slow,  orderly  erosion  and  removal 
of  huge  beds  of  rocks.  Other  valleys  of  ero 
sion  are  as  great  —  hi  all  their  dimensions 
some  are  greater  —  but  none  of  these  produces 
an  effect  on  the  imagination  at  once  so  quick 
and  profound,  coming  without  study,  given 
at  a  glance.  Therefore  by  far  the  greatest  and 
most  influential  feature  of  this  view  from 
Bright  Angel  or  any  other  of  the  canon  views 
is  the  opposite  wall.  Of  the  one  beneath  our 
feet  we  see  only  fragmentary  sections  in  cirques 
and  amphitheaters  and  on  the  sides  of  the 
out- jutting  promontories  between  them,  while 
the  other,  though  far  distant,  is  beheld  in  all 
its  glory  of  color  and  noble  proportions  —  the 
one  supreme  beauty  and  wonder  to  which  the 
eye  is  ever  turning.  For  while  charming  with 
its  beauty  it  tells  the  story  of  the  stupendous 
erosion  of  the  canon  —  the  foundation  of  the 
unspeakable  impression  made  on  everybody. 
It  seems  a  gigantic  statement  for  even  nature 
to  make,  all  hi  one  mighty  stone  word,  appre 
hended  at  once  like  a  burst  of  light,  celestial 
color  its  natural  vesture,  coming  in  glory  to 

358 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

mind  and  heart  as  to  a  home  prepared  for  it 
from  the  very  beginning.  Wildness  so  godful, 
cosmic,  primeval,  bestows  a  new  sense  of 
earth's  beauty  and  size.  Not  even  from  high 
mountains  does  the  world  seem  so  wide,  so 
like  a  star  in  glory  of  light  on  its  way  through 
the  heavens. 

I  have  observed  scenery-hunters  of  all  sorts 
getting  first  views  of  yosemites,  glaciers,  White 
Mountain  ranges,  etc.  Mixed  with  the  en 
thusiasm  which  such  scenery  naturally  excites, 
there  is  often  weak  gushing,  and  many  splut 
ter  aloud  like  little  waterfalls.  Here,  for  a  few 
moments  at  least,  there  is  silence,  and  all  are 
hi  dead  earnest,  as  if  awed  and  hushed  by  an 
earthquake  —  perhaps  until  the  cook  cries 
"Breakfast!"  or  the  stable-boy  "Horses  are 
ready!"  Then  the  poor  unfortunates,  slaves 
of  regular  habits,  turn  quickly  away,  gasping 
and  muttering  as  if  wondering  where  they 
had  been  and  what  had  enchanted  them. 

Roads  have  been  made  from  Bright  Angel 
Hotel  through  the  Coconino  Forest  to  the 
ends  of  outstanding  promontories,  command 
ing  extensive  views  up  and  down  the  canon. 
The  nearest  of  them,  three  or  four  miles  east 
and  west,  are  McNeil's  Point  and  Rowe's 
Point;  the  latter,  besides  commanding  the 
eternally  interesting  canon,  gives  wide-sweep- 

359 


STEEP  TRAILS 

ing  views  southeast  and  west  over  the  dark 
forest  roof  to  the  San  Francisco  and  Mount 
Trumbull  volcanoes  —  the  bluest  of  moun 
tains  over  the  blackest  of  level  woods. 

Instead  of  thus  riding  hi  dust  with  the  crowd, 
more  will  be  gained  by  going  quietly  afoot 
along  the  run  at  different  times  of  day  and 
night,  free  to  observe  the  vegetation,  the  fos 
sils  in  the  rocks,  the  seams  beneath  overhang 
ing  ledges  once  inhabited  by  Indians,  and  to 
watch  the  stupendous  scenery  in  the  chang 
ing  lights  and  shadows,  clouds,  showers,  and 
storms.  One  need  not  go  hunting  the  so- 
called  "points  of  interest."  The  verge  any 
where,  everywhere,  is  a  point  of  interest  be 
yond  one's  wildest  dreams. 

As  yet,  few  of  the  promontories  or  throng 
of  mountain  buildings  hi  the  canon  are  named. 
Nor  among  such  exuberance  of  forms  are 
names  thought  of  by  the  bewildered,  hurried 
tourist.  He  would  be  as  likely  to  think  of 
names  for  waves  in  a  storm.  The  Eastern 
and  Western  Cloisters,  Hindu  Amphitheater, 
Cape  Royal,  Powell's  Plateau,  Grand  View 
Point,  Point  Sublime,  Bissell  and  Moran 
Points,  the  Temple  of  Set,  Vishnu's  Temple, 
Shiva's  Temple,  Twin  Temples,  Tower  of 
Babel,  Hance's  Column  —  these  fairly  good 
names  given  by  Button,  Holmes,  Moran,  and 

360 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

others  are  scattered  over  a  large  stretch  of  the 
canon  wilderness. 

All  the  canon  rock-beds  are  lavishly  painted, 
except  a  few  neutral  bars  and  the  granite  notch 
at  the  bottom  occupied  by  the  river,  which 
makes  but  little  sign.  It  is  a  vast  wilderness 
of  rocks  in  a  sea  of  light,  colored  and  glowing 
like  oak  and  maple  woods  in  autumn,  when 
the  sun-gold  is  richest.  I  have  just  said  that 
it  is  impossible  to  learn  what  the  canon  is 
like  from  descriptions  and  pictures.  Powell's 
and  Button's  descriptions  present  magnificent 
views  not  only  of  the  canon  but  of  all  the  grand 
region  round  about  it;  and  Holmes's  drawings, 
accompanying  Button's  report,  are  wonder 
fully  good.  Surely  faithful  and  loving  skill 
can  go  no  farther  in  putting  the  multitudinous 
decorated  forms  on  paper.  But  the  colors,  the 
living,  rejoicing  colors,  chanting  morning  and 
evening  in  chorus  to  heaven!  Whose  brush 
or  pencil,  however  lovingly  inspired,  can  give 
us  these?  And  if  paint  is  of  no  effect,  what 
hope  lies  in  pen-work?  Only  this:  some  may 
be  incited  by  it  to  go  and  see  for  themselves. 

No  other  range  of  mountainous  rock-work 
of  anything  like  the  same  extent  have  I  seen 
that  is  so  strangely,  boldly,  lavishly  colored. 
The  famous  Yellowstone  Canon  below  the 
falls  comes  to  mind;  but,  wonderful  as  it  is, 

361 


STEEP  TRAILS 

and  well  deserved  as  is  its  fame,  compared  with 
this  it  is  only  a  bright  rainbow  ribbon  at  the 
roots  of  the  pines.  Each  of  the  series  of  level, 
continuous  beds  of  carboniferous  rocks  of  the 
canon  has,  as  we  have  seen,  its  own  charac 
teristic  color.  The  summit  limestone-beds  are 
pale  yellow;  next  below  these  are  the  beauti 
ful  rose-colored  cross-bedded  sandstones;  next 
there  are  a  thousand  feet  of  brilliant  red  sand 
stones;  and  below  these  the  red  wall  limestones, 
over  two  thousand  feet  thick,  rich  massy  red, 
the  greatest  and  most  influential  of  the  series, 
and  forming  the  main  color-fountain.  Be 
tween  these  are  many  neutral-tinted  beds. 
The  prevailing  colors  are  wonderfully  deep 
and  clear,  changing  and  blending  with  vary 
ing  intensity  from  hour  to  hour,  day  to  day, 
season  to  season;  throbbing,  wavering,  glow 
ing,  responding  to  every  passing  cloud  or 
storm,  a  world  of  color  in  itself,  now  burning 
in  separate  rainbow  bars  streaked  and  blotched 
with  shade,  now  glowing  in  one  smooth,  all- 
pervading  ethereal  radiance  like  the  alpen- 
glow,  uniting  the  rocky  world  with  the  heavens. 
The  dawn,  as  in  all  the  pure,  dry  desert 
country  is  ineffably  beautiful;  an4  when  the 
first  level  sunbeams  sting  the  domes  and 
spires,  with  what  a  burst  of  power  the  big, 
wild  days  begin!  The  dead  and  the  living, 

362 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

rocks  and  hearts  alike,  awake  and  sing  the 
new-old  song  of  creation.  All  the  massy  head 
lands  and  salient  angles  of  the  walls,  and  the 
multitudinous  temples  and  palaces,  seem  to 
catch  the  light  at  once,  and  cast  thick  black 
shadows  athwart  hollow  and  gorge,  bringing 
out  details  as  well  as  the  main  massive  fea 
tures  of  the  architecture;  while  all  the  rocks, 
as  if  wild  with  life,  throb  and  quiver  and  glow 
in  the  glorious  sunburst,  rejoicing.  Every 
rock  temple  then  becomes  a  temple  of  music; 
every  spire  and  pinnacle  an  angel  of  light  and 
song,  shouting  color  hallelujahs. 

As  the  day  draws  to  a  close,  shadows,  won 
drous,  black,  and  thick,  like  those  of  the  morn 
ing,  fill  up  the  wall  hollows,  while  the  glowing 
rocks,  their  rough  angles  burned  off,  seem  soft 
and  hot  to  the  heart  as  they  stand  submerged 
in  purple  haze,  which  now  fills  the  canon  like 
a  sea.  Still  deeper,  richer,  more  divine  grow 
the  great  walls  and  temples,  until  in  the  su 
preme  flaming  glory  of  sunset  the  whole  canon 
is  transfigured,  as  if  all  the  life  and  light  of 
centuries  of  sunshine  stored  up  and  condensed 
in  the  rocks  was  now  being  poured  forth  as 
from  one  glorious  fountain,  flooding  both 
earth  and  sky. 

Strange  to  say,  in  the  full  white  effulgence 
of  the  midday  hours  the  bright  colors  grow 

363 


STEEP  TRAILS 

dim  and  terrestrial  in  common  gray  haze;  and 
the  rocks,  after  the  manner  of  mountains, 
seem  to  crouch  and  drowse  and  shrink  to  less 
than  half  their  real  stature,  and  have  nothing 
to  say  to  one,  as  if  not  at  home.  But  it  is  fine 
to  see  how  quickly  they  come  to  life  and  grow 
radiant  and  communicative  as  soon  as  a  band 
of  white  clouds  come  floating  by.  As  if  shout 
ing  for  joy,  they  seem  to  spring  up  to  meet 
them  in  hearty  salutation,  eager  to  touch 
them  and  beg  their  blessings.  It  is  just  in  the 
midst  of  these  dull  midday  hours  that  the 
canon  clouds  are  born. 

A  good  storm-cloud  full  of  lightning  and  rain 
on  its  way  to  its  work  on  a  sunny  desert  day 
is  a  glorious  object.  Across  the  canon,  oppo 
site  the  hotel,  is  a  little  tributary  of  the  Colo 
rado  called  Bright  Angel  Creek.  A  fountain- 
cloud  still  better  deserves  the  name  "Angel 
of  the  Desert  Wells "  —  clad  in  bright  plum 
age,  carrying  cool  shade  and  living  water  to 
countless  animals  and  plants  ready  to  perish, 
noble  in  form  and  gesture,  seeming  able  for 
anything,  pouring  life-giving,  wonder-working 
floods  from  its  alabaster  fountains,  as  if  some 
sky-lake  had  broken.  To  every  gulch  and 
gorge  on  its  favorite  ground  is  given  a  passion 
ate  torrent,  roaring,  replying  to  the  rejoicing 
lightning  —  stones,  tons  in  weight,  hurrying 

364 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

away  as  if  frightened,  showing  something  of 
the  way  Grand  Canon  work  is  done.  Most  of 
the  fertile  summer  clouds  of  the  canon  are 
of  this  sort,  massive,  swelling  cumuli,  growing 
rapidly,  displaying  delicious  tones  of  purple 
and  gray  in  the  hollows  of  their  sun-beaten 
houses,  showering  favored  areas  of  the  heated 
landscape,  and  vanishing  in  an  hour  or  two. 
Some,  busy  and  thoughtful-looking,  glide 
with  beautiful  motion  along  the  middle  of 
the  canon  in  flocks,  turning  aside  here  and 
there,  lingering  as  if  studying  the  needs  of 
particular  spots,  exploring  side-canons,  peering 
into  hollows  like  birds  seeking  nest-places,  or 
hovering  aloft  on  outspread  wings.  They  scan 
all  the  red  wilderness,  dispensing  their  bless 
ings  of  cool  shadows  and  rain  where  the  need 
is  the  greatest,  refreshing  the  rocks,  their  off 
spring  as  well  as  the  vegetation,  continuing 
their  sculpture,  deepening  gorges  and  sharp 
ening  peaks.  Sometimes,  blending  all  together, 
they  weave  a  ceiling  from  rim  to  rim,  per 
haps  opening  a  window  here  and  there  for 
sunshine  to  stream  through,  suddenly  lighting 
some  palace  or  temple  and  making  it  flare  in 
the  rain  as  if  on  fire. 

Sometimes,  as  one  sits  gazing  from  a  high, 
jutting  promontory,  the  sky  all  clear,  showing 
not  the  slightest  wisp  or  penciling,  a  bright 

365 


STEEP  TRAILS 

band  of  cumuli  will  appear  suddenly,  coming 
up  the  canon  in  single  file,  as  if  tracing  a  well- 
known  trail,  passing  in  review,  each  in  turn 
darting  its  lances  and  dropping  its  shower, 
making  a  row  of  little  vertical  rivers  in  the 
air  above  the  big  brown  one.  Others  seem  to 
grow  from  mere  points,  and  fly  high  above  the 
canon,  yet  following  its  course  for  a  long  time, 
noiseless,  as  if  hunting,  then  suddenly  darting 
lightning  at  unseen  marks,  and  hurrying  on. 
Or  they  loiter  here  and  there  as  if  idle,  like 
laborers  out  of  work,  waiting  to  be  hired. 

Half  a  dozen  or  more  showers  may  often 
times  be  seen  falling  at  once,  while  far  the 
greater  part  of  the  sky  is  in  sunshine,  and  not 
a  raindrop  comes  nigh  one.  These  thunder- 
showers  from  as  many  separate  clouds,  look 
ing  like  wisps  of  long  hair,  may  vary  greatly 
in  effects.  The  pale,  faint  streaks  are  showers 
that  fail  to  reach  the  ground,  being  evapo 
rated  on  the  way  down  through  the  dry,  thirsty 
air,  like  streams  in  deserts.  Many,  on  the  other 
hand,  which  in  the  distance  seem  insignifi 
cant,  are  really  heavy  rain,  however  local; 
these  are  the  gray  wisps  well  zigzagged  with 
lightning.  The  darker  ones  are  torrent  rain, 
which  on  broad,  steep  slopes  of  favorable  con 
formation  give  rise  to  so-called  "  cloud-bursts  " ; 
and  wonderful  is  the  commotion  they  cause. 

366 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

The  gorges  and  gulches  below  them,  usually 
dry,  break  out  in  loud  uproar,  with  a  sudden 
downrush  of  muddy,  boulder-laden  floods. 
Down  they  all  go  in  one  simultaneous  gush, 
roaring  like  lions  rudely  awakened,  each  of 
the  tawny  brood  actually  kicking  up  a  dust 
at  the  first  onset. 

During  the  winter  months  snow  falls  over 
all  the  high  plateau,  usually  to  a  considerable 
depth,  whitening  the  rim  and  the  roofs  of  the 
canon  buildings.  But  last  winter,  when  I 
arrived  at  Bright  Angel  in  the  middle  of  Janu 
ary,  there  was  no  snow  in  sight,  and  the 
ground  was  dry,  greatly  to  my  disappointment, 
for  I  had  made  the  trip  mainly  to  see  the 
canon  hi  its  winter  garb.  Soothingly  I  was 
informed  that  this  was  an  exceptional  sea 
son,  and  that  the  good  snow  might  arrive 
at  any  time.  After  waiting  a  few  days,  I 
gladly  hailed  a  broad-browed  cloud  coming 
grandly  on  from  the  west  in  big  promising 
blackness,  very  unlike  the  white  sailors  of  the 
summer  skies.  Under  the  lee  of  a  rim-ledge, 
with  another  snow-lover,  I  watched  its  move 
ments  as  it  took  possession  of  the  canon  and 
all  the  adjacent  region  in  sight.  Trailing  its 
gray  fringes  over  the  spiry  tops  of  the  great 
temples  and  towers,  it  gradually  settled  lower, 
embracing  them  all  with  ineffable  kindness 
367 


STEEP  TRAILS 

and  gentleness  of  touch,  and  fondled  the  little 
cedars  and  pines  as  they  quivered  eagerly  in 
the  wind  like  young  birds  begging  their  moth 
ers  to  feed  them.  The  first  flakes  and  crystals 
began  to  fly  about  noon,  sweeping  straight 
up  the  middle  of  the  canon,  and  swirling  in 
magnificent  eddies  along  the  sides.  Gradually 
the  hearty  swarms  closed  their  ranks,  and  all 
the  canon  was  lost  in  gray  gloom  except  a 
short  section  of  the  wall  and  a  few  trees  be 
side  us,  which  looked  glad  with  snow  in  their 
needles  and  about  their  feet  as  they  leaned 
out  over  the  gulf.  Suddenly  the  storm  opened 
with  magical  effect  to  the  north  over  the 
canon  of  Bright  Angel  Creek,  inclosing  a  sun 
lit  mass  of  the  canon  architecture,  spanned 
by  great  white  concentric  arches  of  cloud  like 
the  bows  of  a  silvery  aurora.  Above  these  and 
a  little  back  of  them  was  a  series  of  upboiling 
purple  clouds,  and  high  above  all,  in  the  back 
ground,  a  range  of  noble  cumuli  towered  aloft 
like  snow-laden  mountains,  their  pure  pearl 
bosses  flooded  with  sunshine.  The  whole  no 
ble  picture,  calmly  glowing,  was  framed  in  thick 
gray  gloom,  which  soon  closed  over  it;  and 
the  storm  went  on,  opening  and  closing  until 
night  covered  all. 

Two  days  later,  when  we  were  on  a  jutting 
point  about  eighteen  miles  east  of  Bright  Angel 

368 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

and  one  thousand  feet  higher,  we  enjoyed 
another  storm  of  equal  glory  as  to  cloud  effects, 
though  only  a  few  inches  of  snow  fell.  Before 
the  storm  began  we  had  a  magnificent  view 
of  this  grander  upper  part  of  the  canon  and 
also  of  the  Coconino  Forest  and  the  Painted 
Desert.  The  march  of  the  clouds  with  their 
storm  banners  flying  over  this  sublime  land 
scape  was  unspeakably  glorious,  and  so  also 
was  the  breaking  up  of  the  storm  next  morn 
ing  —  the  mingling  of  silver-capped  rock,  sun 
shine,  and  cloud. 

Most  tourists  make  out  to  be  in  a  hurry 
even  here;  therefore  their  days  or  hours  would 
be  best  spent  on  the  promontories  nearest  the 
hotel.  Yet  a  surprising  number  go  down  the 
Bright  Angel  Trail  to  the  brink  of  the  inner 
gloomy  granite  gorge  overlooking  the  river. 
Deep  canons  attract  like  high  mountains;  the 
deeper  they  are,  the  more  surely  are  we  drawn 
into  them.  On  foot,  of  course,  there  is  no  dan 
ger  whatever,  and,  with  ordinary  precautions, 
but  little  on  animals.  In  comfortable  tourist 
faith,  unthinking,  unfearing,  down  go  men, 
women,  and  children  on  whatever  is  offered, 
horse,  mule,  or  burro,  as  if  saying  with  Jean 
Paul,  "fear  nothing  but  fear"  —  not  without 
reason,  for  these  canon  trails  down  the  stair 
ways  of  the  gods  are  less  dangerous  than  they 


STEEP  TRAILS 

seem,  less  dangerous  than  home  stairs.  The 
guides  are  cautious,  and  so  are  the  experi 
enced,  much-enduring  beasts.  The  scrawniest 
Rosinantes  and  wizened-rat  mules  cling  hard 
to  the  rocks  endwise  or  sidewise,  like  lizards 
or  ants.  From  terrace  to  terrace,  climate  to 
climate,  down  one  creeps  in  sun  and  shade, 
through  gorge  and  gully  and  grassy  ravine, 
and,  after  a  long  scramble  on  foot,  at  last  be 
neath  the  mighty  cliffs  one  comes  to  the  grand, 
roaring  river. 

To  the  mountaineer  the  depth  of  the  canon, 
from  five  thousand  to  six  thousand  feet,  will 
not  seem  so  very  wonderful,  for  he  has  often 
explored  others  that  are  about  as  deep.  But 
the  most  experienced  will  be  awestruck  by  the 
vast  extent  of  strange,  countersunk  scenery, 
the  multitude  of  huge  rock  monuments  of 
painted  masonry  built  up  in  regular  courses 
towering  above,  beneath,  and  round  about 
him.  By  the  Bright  Angel  Trail  the  last  fif 
teen  hundred  feet  of  the  descent  to  the  river 
has  to  be  made  afoot  down  the  gorge  of  Indian 
Garden  Creek.  Most  of  the  visitors  do  not 
like  this  part,  and  are  content  to  stop  at  the 
end  of  the  horse-trail  and  look  down  on  the 
dull-brown  flood  from  the  edge  of  the  Indian 
Garden  Plateau.  By  the  new  Hance  Trail, 
excepting  a  few  daringly  steep  spots,  you  can 

370 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

ride  all  the  way  to  the  river,  where  there  is  a 
good  spacious  camp-ground  in  a  mesquite 
grove.  This  trail,  built  by  brave  Hance,  be 
gins  on  the  highest  part  of  the  rim,  eight 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  a  thousand  feet 
higher  than  the  head  of  Bright  Angel  Trail, 
and  the  descent  is  a  little  over  six  thousand 
feet,  through  a  wonderful  variety  of  climate 
and  life.  Often  late  in  the  fall,  when  frosty 
winds  are  blowing  and  snow  is  flying  at  one 
end  of  the  trail,  tender  plants  are  blooming  in 
balmy  summer  weather  at  the  other.  The  trip 
down  and  up  can  be  made  afoot  easily  in  a 
day.  In  this  way  one  is  free  to  observe  the 
scenery  and  vegetation,  instead  of  merely 
clinging  to  his  animal  and  watching  its  steps. 
But  all  who  have  time  should  go  prepared  to 
camp  awhile  on  the  river-bank,  to  rest  and 
learn  something  about  the  plants  and  animals 
and  the  mighty  flood  roaring  past.  In  cool, 
shady  amphitheaters  at  the  head  of  the  trail 
there  are  groves  of  white  silver  fir  and  Doug 
las  spruce,  with  ferns  and  saxifrages  that 
recall  snowy  mountains;  below  these,  yellow 
pine,  nut  pine,  juniper,  hop-hornbeam,  ash, 
maple,  holly-leaved  berberis,  cowania,  spiraea, 
dwarf  oak,  and  other  small  shrubs  and  trees. 
In  dry  gulches  and  on  taluses  and  sun-beaten 
crags  are  sparsely  scattered  yuccas,  cactuses, 

371 


STEEP  TRAILS 

agave,  etc.  Where  springs  gush  from  the  rocks 
there  are  willow  thickets,  grassy  flats,  and 
bright,  flowery  gardens,  and  in  the  hottest 
recesses  the  delicate  abronia,  mesquite,  woody 
compositse,  and  arborescent  cactuses. 

The  most  striking  and  characteristic  part 
of  this  widely  varied  vegetation  are  the  cac- 
tacese  —  strange,  leafless,  old-fashioned  plants 
with  beautiful  flowers  and  fruit,  in  every  way 
able  and  admirable.  While  grimly  defending 
themselves  with  innumerable  barbed  spears, 
they  offer  both  food  and  drink  to  man  and 
beast.  Their  juicy  globes  and  disks  and  fluted 
cylindrical  columns  are  almost  the  only  desert 
wells  that  never  go  dry,  and  they  always  seem 
to  rejoice  the  more  and  grow  plumper  and 
juicier  the  hotter  the  sunshine  and  sand.  Some 
are  spherical,  like  rolled-up  porcupines,  crouch 
ing  in  rock-hollows  beneath  a  mist  of  gray 
lances,  unmoved  by  the  wildest  winds.  Others, 
standing  as  erect  as  bushes  and  trees  or  tall 
branchless  pillars  crowned  with  magnificent 
flowers,  their  prickly  armor  sparkling,  look 
boldly  abroad  over  the  glaring  desert,  making 
the  strangest  forests  ever  seen  or  dreamed  of. 
Cereus  giganteus,  the  grim  chief  of  the  desert 
tribe,  is  often  thirty  or  forty  feet  high  in  south 
ern  Arizona.  Several  species  of  tree  yuccas 
in  the  same  deserts,  laden  in  early  spring  with 

372 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

superb  white  lilies,  form  forests  hardly  less 
wonderful,  though  here  they  grow  singly  or 
in  small  lonely  groves.  The  low,  almost  stem- 
less  Yucca  baccata,  with  beautiful  lily  flowers 
and  sweet  banana-like  fruit,  prized  by  the 
Indians,  is  common  along  the  canon-rim, 
growing  on  lean,  rocky  soil  beneath  mountain- 
mahogany,  nut  pines,  and  junipers,  beside 
dense  flowery  mats  of  Spiraea  ccespitosa  and 
the  beautiful  pinnate-leaved  Spircea  mille- 
folia.  The  nut  pine  (Pinus  edulis)  scattered 
along  the  upper  slopes  and  roofs  of  the  canon 
buildings,  is  the  principal  tree  of  the  strange 
dwarf  Coconino  Forest.  It  is  a  picturesque 
stub  of  a  pine  about  twenty-five  feet  high, 
usually  with  dead,  lichened  limbs  thrust 
through  its  rounded  head,  and  grows  on  crags 
and  fissured  rock  tables,  braving  heat  and 
frost,  snow  and  drought,  and  continuing  pa 
tiently,  faithfully  fruitful  for  centuries.  In 
dians  and  insects  and  almost  every  desert  bird 
and  beast  come  to  it  to  be  fed. 

To  civilized  people  from  corn  and  cattle  and 
wheat-field  countries  the  canon  at  first  sight 
seems  as  uninhabitable  as  a  glacier  crevasse, 
utterly  silent  and  barren.  Nevertheless  it  is 
the  home  of  a  multitude  of  our  fellow-mortals, 
men  as  well  as  animals  and  plants.  Centu 
ries  ago  it  was  inhabited  by  tribes  of  Indians, 

373  ; 


STEEP  TRAILS 

who,  long  before  Columbus  saw  America, 
built  thousands  of  stone  houses  in  its  crags, 
and  large  ones,  some  of  them  several  stories 
high,  with  hundreds  of  rooms,  on  the  mesas 
of  the  adjacent  regions.  Their  cliff-dwellings, 
almost  numberless,  are  still  to  be  seen  in  the 
canon,  scattered  along  both  sides  from  top 
to  bottom  and  throughout  its  entire  length, 
built  of  stone  and  mortar  in  seams  and  fis 
sures  like  swallows7  nests,  or  on  isolated  ridges 
and  peaks.  The  ruins  of  larger  buildings  are 
found  on  open  spots  by  the  river,  but  most  of 
them  aloft  on  the  brink  of  the  wildest,  giddi 
est  precipices,  sites  evidently  chosen  for  safety 
from  enemies,  and  seemingly  accessible  only 
to  the  birds  of  the  air.  Many  caves  were  also 
used  as  dwelling-places,  as  were  mere  seams 
on  cliff-fronts  formed  by  unequal  weathering 
and  with  or  without  outer  or  side  walls;  and 
some  of  them  were  covered  with  colored 
pictures  of  animals.  The  most  interesting  of 
these  cliff-dwellings  had  pathetic  little  ribbon- 
like  strips  of  garden  on  narrow  terraces,  where 
irrigating-water  could  be  carried  to  them  — 
most  romantic  of  sky-gardens,  but  eloquent  of 
hard  times. 

In  recesses  along  the  river  and  on  the  first 
plateau  flats  above  its  gorge  were  fields  and 
gardens  of  considerable  size,  where  irrigating- 
374 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

ditches  may  still  be  traced.  Some  of  these  an 
cient  gardens  are  still  cultivated  by  Indians, 
descendants  of  cliff-dwellers,  who  raise  corn, 
squashes,  melons,  potatoes,  etc.,  to  reinforce 
the  produce  of  the  many  wild  food-furnishing 
plants  —  nuts,  beans,  berries,  yucca  and  cactus 
fruits,  grass  and  sunflower  seeds,  etc.  —  and  the 
flesh  of  animals  —  deer,  rabbits,  lizards,  etc. 
The  canon  Indians  I  have  met  here  seem  to 
be  living  much  as  did  their  ancestors,  though 
not  now  driven  into  rock-dens.  They  are  able, 
erect  men,  with  commanding  eyes,  which  noth 
ing  that  they  wish  to  see  can  escape.  They 
are  never  in  a  hurry,  have  a  strikingly  meas 
ured,  deliberate,  bearish  manner  of  moving 
the  limbs  and  turning  the  head,  are  capable 
of  enduring  weather,  thirst,  hunger,  and  over 
abundance,  and  are  blessed  with  stomachs 
which  triumph  over  everything  the  wilderness 
may  offer.  Evidently  their  lives  are  not  bitter. 
The  largest  of  the  canon  animals  one  is 
likely  to  see  is  the  wild  sheep,  or  Rocky  Moun 
tain  bighorn,  a  most  admirable  beast,  with 
limbs  that  never  fail,  at  home  on  the  most 
nerve-trying  precipices,  acquainted  with  all 
the  springs  and  passes  and  broken-down  jump- 
able  places  in  the  sheer  ribbon  cliffs,  bound 
ing  from  crag  to  crag  in  easy  grace  and  con 
fidence  of  strength,  his  great  horns  held  high 
375 


STEEP  TRAILS 

above  his  shoulders,  wild  red  blood  beating  and 
hissing  through  every  fiber  of  him  like  the 
wind  through  a  quivering  mountain  pine. 

Deer  also  are  occasionally  met  in  the  canon, 
making  their  way  to  the  river  when  the  wells 
of  the  plateau  are  dry.  Along  the  short  spring 
streams  beavers  are  still  busy,  as  is  shown  by 
the  cottonwood  and  willow  timber  they  have 
cut  and  peeled,  found  in  all  the  river  drift- 
heaps.  In  the  most  barren  cliffs  and  gulches 
there  dwell  a  multitude  of  lesser  animals,  well- 
dressed,  clear-eyed,  happy  little  beasts  — 
wood  rats,  kangaroo  rats,  gophers,  wood  mice, 
skunks,  rabbits,  bob-cats,  and  many  others, 
gathering  food,  or  dozing  in  their  sun-warmed 
dens.  Lizards,  too,  of  every  kind  and  color 
are  here  enjoying  life  on  the  hot  cliffs,  and 
making  the  brightest  of  them  brighter. 

Nor  is  there  any  lack  of  feathered  people. 
The  golden  eagle  may  be  seen,  and  the  osprey, 
hawks,  jays,  hummingbirds,  the  mourning 
dove,  and  cheery  familiar  singers  —  the  black- 
headed  grosbeak,  robin,  bluebird,  Townsend's 
thrush,  and  many  warblers,  sailing  the  sky 
and  enlivening  the  rocks  and  bushes  through 
all  the  canon  wilderness. 

Here  at  Hance's  river-camp  or  a  few  miles 
above  it  brave  Powell  and  his  brave  men 
passed  their  first  night  in  the  canon  on  their 
376 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

adventurous  voyage  of  discovery  thirty-three1 
years  ago.  They  faced  a  thousand  dangers, 
open  or  hidden,  now  in  their  boats  gladly 
sliding  down  swift,  smooth  reaches,  now  rolled 
over  and  over  in  back-combing  surges  of  rough, 
roaring  cataracts,  sucked  under  in  eddies, 
swimming  like  beavers,  tossed  and  beaten  like 
castaway  drift  —  stout-hearted,  undaunted,  do 
ing  their  work  through  it  all.  After  a  month 
of  this  they  floated  smoothly  out  of  the  dark, 
gloomy,  roaring  abyss  into  light  and  safety  two 
hundred  miles  below.  As  the  flood  rushes  past 
us,  heavy-laden  with  desert  mud,  we  natur 
ally  think  of  its  sources,  its  countless  silvery 
branches  outspread  on  thousands  of  snowy 
mountains  along  the  crest  of  the  continent, 
and  the  life  of  them,  the  beauty  of  them,  their 
history  and  romance.  Its  topmost  springs  are 
far  north  and  east  in  Wyoming  and  Colorado, 
on  the  snowy  Wind  River,  Front,  Park,  and 
Sawatch  Ranges,  dividing  the  two  ocean 
waters,  and  the  Elk,  Wahsatch,  Uinta,  and 
innumerable  spurs  streaked  with  streams, 
made  famous  by  early  explorers  and  hunters. 
It  is  a  river  of  rivers  —  the  Du  Chesne,  San 
Rafael,  Yampa,  Dolores,  Gunnison,  Coche- 

1  Muir  wrote  this  description  in  1902;  Major  J.  W.  Powell 
made  his  descent  through  the  canon,  with  small  boats,  in 
1869.  [Editor.]  r 

377 


STEEP  TRAILS 

topa,  Uncompahgre,  Eagle,  and  Roaring 
Rivers,  the  Green  and  the  Grand,  and  scores 
of  others  with  branches  innumerable,  as  mad 
and  glad  a  band  as  ever  sang  on  mountains, 
descending  in  glory  of  foam  and  spray  from 
snow-banks  and  glaciers  through  their  rocky 
moraine-dammed,  beaver-dammed  channels. 
Then,  all  emerging  from  dark  balsam  and  pine 
woods  and  coming  together,  they  meander 
through  wide,  sunny  park  valleys,  and  at 
length  enter  the  great  plateau  and  flow  in 
deep  canons,  the  beginning  of  the  system 
culminating  in  this  grand  canon  of  canons. 

Our  warm  canon  camp  is  also  a  good  place 
to  give  a  thought  to  the  glaciers  which  still 
exist  at  the  heads  of  the  highest  tributaries. 
Some  of  them  are  of  considerable  size,  espe 
cially  those  on  the  Wind  River  and  Sawatch 
ranges  in  Wyoming  and  Colorado.  They  are 
remnants  of  a  vast  system  of  glaciers  which 
recently  covered  the  upper  part  of  the  Colo 
rado  basin,  sculptured  its  peaks,  ridges,  and 
valleys  to  their  present  forms,  and  extended 
far  out  over  the  plateau  region  —  how  far  I 
cannot  now  say.  It  appears,  therefore,  that, 
however  old  the  main  trunk  of  the  Colorado 
may  be,  all  its  widespread  upper  branches 
and  the  landscapes  they  flow  through  are 
new-born,  scarce  at  all  changed  as  yet  hi  any 

378 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

important  feature  since  they  first  came  to 
light  at  the  close  of  the  Glacial  Period. 

The  so-called  Grand  Colorado  Plateau,  of 
which  the  Grand  Canon  is  only  one  of  the  well- 
proportioned  features,  extends  with  a  breadth 
of  hundreds  of  miles  from  the  flanks  of  the 
Wahsatch  and  Park  Mountains  to  the  south 
of  the  San  Francisco  Peaks.  Immediately  to 
the  north  of  the  deepest  part  of  the  canon  it 
rises  in  a  series  of  subordinate  plateaus,  diver 
sified  with  green  meadows,  marshes,  bogs, 
ponds,  forests,  and  grovy  park  valleys,  a  fav 
orite  Indian  hunting-ground,  inhabited  by 
elk,  deer,  beaver,  etc.  But  -far  the  greater 
part  of  the  plateau  is  good  sound  desert,  rocky, 
sandy,  or  fluffy  with  loose  ashes  and  dust, 
dissected  in  some  places  into  a  labyrinth  of 
stream-channel  chasms  like  cracks  in  a  dry 
clay-bed,  or  the  narrow  slit  crevasses  of  gla 
ciers  —  blackened  with  lava-flows,  dotted  with 
volcanoes  and  beautiful  buttes,  and  lined  with 
long  continuous  escarpments  —  a  vast  bed 
of  sediments  of  an  ancient  sea-bottom,  still 
nearly  as  level  as  when  first  laid  down  after 
being  heaved  into  the  sky  a  mile  or  two  high. 

Walking  quietly  about  in  the  alleys  and  by 
ways  of  the  Grand  Canon  city,  we  learn  some 
thing  of  the  way  it  was  made;  and  all  must 
admire  effects  so  great  from  means  apparently 

379 


STEEP  TRAILS 

so  simple;  rain  striking  light  hammer-blows 
or  heavier  in  streams,  with  many  rest  Sun 
days;  soft  air  and  light,  gentle  sappers  and 
miners,  toiling  forever;  the  big  river  sawing 
the  plateau  asunder,  carrying  away  the  eroded 
and  ground  waste,  and  exposing  the  edges  of 
the  strata  to  the  weather;  rain  torrents  saw 
ing  cross-streets  and  alleys,  exposing  the  strata 
in  the  same  way  in  hundreds  of  sections,  the 
softer,  less  resisting  beds  weathering  and  re 
ceding  faster,  thus  undermining  the  harder 
beds,  which  fall,  not  only  in  small  weathered 
particles,  but  in  heavy  sheer-cleaving  masses, 
assisted  down  from  tune  to  time  by  kindly 
earthquakes,  rain  torrents  rushing  the  fallen 
material  to  the  river,  keeping  the  wall  rocks 
constantly  exposed.  Thus  the  canon  grows 
wider  and  deeper.  So  also  do  the  side-canons 
and  amphitheaters,  while  secondary  gorges 
and  cirques  gradually  isolate  masses  of  the 
promontories,  forming  new  buildings,  all  of 
which  are  being  weathered  and  pulled  and 
shaken  down  while  being  built,  showing  de 
struction  and  creation  as  one.  We  see  the 
proudest  temples  and  palaces  in  stateliest 
attitudes,  wearing  their  sheets  of  detritus  as 
royal  robes,  shedding  off  showers  of  red  and 
yellow  stones  like  trees  in  autumn  shedding 
their  leaves,  going  to  dust  like  beautiful  days 

380 


THE  GRAND  CANON 

to  night,  proclaiming  as  with  the  tongues  of 
angels  the  natural  beauty  of  death. 

Every  building  is  seen  to  be  a  remnant  of 
once  continuous  beds  of  sediments,  —  sand 
and  slime  on  the  floor  of  an  ancient  sea,  and 
filled  with  the  remains  of  animals,  —  and  ev 
ery  particle  of  the  sandstones  and  limestones 
of  these  wonderful  structures  to  be  derived 
from  other  landscapes,  weathered  and  rolled 
and  ground  in  the  storms  and  streams  of  other 
ages.  And  when  we  examine  the  escarpments, 
hills,  buttes,  and  other  monumental  masses 
of  the  plateau  on  either  side  of  the  canon,  we 
discover  that  an  amount  of  material  has  been 
carried  off  in  the  general  denudation  of  the 
region  compared  with  which  even  that  carried 
away  in  the  making  of  the  Grand  Canon  is 
as  nothing.  Thus  each  wonder  in  sight  be 
comes  a  window  through  which  other  wonders 
come  to  view.  In  no  other  part  of  this  conti 
nent  are  the  wonders  of  geology,  the  records 
of  the  world's  auld  lang  syne,  more  widely 
opened,  or  displayed  in  higher  piles.  The  whole 
canon  is  a  mine  of  fossils,  in  which  five  thou 
sand  feet  of  horizontal  strata  are  exposed  in 
regular  succession  over  more  than  a  thousand 
square  miles  of  wall-space,  and  on  the  adja 
cent  plateau  region  there  is  another  series  of 
beds  twice  as  thick,  forming  a  grand  geological 

381 


STEEP  TRAILS 

library  —  a  collection  of  stone  books  cover 
ing  thousands  of  miles  of  shelving,  tier  on 
tier,  conveniently  arranged  for  the  student. 
And  with  what  wonderful  scriptures  are  their 
pages  filled  —  myriad  forms  of  successive 
floras  and  faunas,  lavishly  illustrated  with 
colored  drawings,  carrying  us  back  into  the 
midst  of  the  life  of  a  past  infinitely  remote. 
And  as  we  go  on  and  on,  studying  this  old,  old 
life  in  the  light  of  the  life  beating  warmly 
about  us,  we  enrich  and  lengthen  our  own. 


THE  END 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Animals,  wild,  danger  from, 

312-17. 
Antelope,  41. 
Apple,  wild  (Pyrus  rivularis), 

309. 
Apples,  wild  and  cultivated, 

15,  16. 
Arbor-  vitse,     Western,     231, 

232. 

Arbutus,  Menzies,  234,  235. 
Arc  Dome,  187. 
Arrow  Lakes,  332,  333. 
Ash,  Oregon,  308. 
Ash  Creek  Glacier,  97,  98. 
Aspen,  178,  179. 

Banana,  137. 

Bathing,  in  Great  Salt  Lake, 

121-25. 

Bear,  black,  251. 
Bear,  brown,  251. 
Bears,  of  Mt.  Shasta,  39,  40; 

and  bees,  40;  trails  in  the 

San    Gabriel    Mts.,    153; 

absence   in  Nevada,   183; 

of  Oregon,    312-14;  Lewis 

and  Clark  on  species  of, 

316,  317. 
Beaver,  in  Oregon,  321-23; 

at     the     Grand     Canon, 

376. 

Bees,  38-40. 
Berries,  of  Washington,  240, 

241. 
Big  Smoky  Valley,  186,  197. 


Big  Spring  of  the  Sacramento, 

87. 
Birds,  of  Mt.  Shasta,  41;  of 

the  Troy  Range,  Nevada, 

180;  of  Oregon,  325,  326; 

of  the  Grand  Canon,  376. 
Blue  Mts.,  298. 
Boat  Encampment,  331,  332. 
Bremer  Meadows,  92. 

Cactuses,  371,  372. 
Calochortus  Nuttallii,  134. 
Calypso  borealis,  310. 
Camassia,  310. 
Canoe  River,  331. 
Cape  Flattery,  209,  210. 
Cape  Horn,  Columbia  River, 

341. 
Cascade  Mts.,  268,  286-92, 

298. 
Cascades  of  the   Columbia, 

340-42. 

Cedar,  Alaska,  234. 
Cedar,  canoe,  231  note. 
Cedar,  white  or  Port  Orford, 

299. 

Cereus  giganteus,  372. 
Chaudiere  Falls,  334. 
Cherry,  wild  (Prunus  emargi- 

nata,  var.  mollis),  308. 
Cinder  Cone,  54,  55. 
City  Creek,  106,  108,  117. 
Clark,   Capt.   William,  314- 

17. 
Clarke's  Fork,  333. 


385 


INDEX 


Climate,  individual  tastes  in, 
280-82. 

Cloud's  Rest,  23,  24,  27,  28. 

Coast  Range,  290. 

Coconino  Forest,  373. 

Colorado  River,  352;  Powell's 
voyage,  376,  377;  course, 
377,  378;  geology,  378-82. 

Columbia  Lakes,  331. 

Columbia  River,  293;  ma 
jesty,  327,  328;  branches, 
328,  329;  discharge,  329; 
discovery,  330;  course  and 
tributaries,  331-45;  salmon 
harvest,  344;  geology,  345, 
346. 

Congar,  Dr.,  137,  138. 

Coulterville,  19. 

Cowlitz  River,  338. 

Crater  Lake,  345. 

Culture,  vs.  wildness,  3-18. 

Cypress  (Chamcecyparis  law- 
soniana),  233  and  note. 

Dalles,  the,  332,  339,  340. 

Darlingtonia,  86,  87. 

Deer,    of    Mt.    Shasta,    39; 

about  Puget  Sound,  250; 

of  Oregon,  320. 
Deer,  mule,  92,  320. 
De  Fuca,  Juan,  209. 
Deschutes  River,  339. 
Dogwood,  Nuttall's  flowering, 

308. 
Douglas,  David,  227,  300-05. 

Eaton  Canon,  147-49. 
Eaton  Creek,  148. 
Elk,  41,  251,  318. 
Erythronium       grandiflorum, 

129-31. 
Eureka,  201. 


Fall,  a,  21,  22. 

Fall  River,  101,  102. 

Falls  of  the  Columbia,  339. 

Fay,  Jerome,  60,  61,  67-80. 

Fir  (Abies  grandis),  232  and 
note,  300. 

Fir  (Picea  amdbilis,  var. 
nobilis),  232,  233. 

Fir  (Picea  subalpina),  233. 

Fir,  balsam,  180. 

Flathead  River,  333. 

Flowers,  of  Mt.  Shasta,  31- 
33,  38;  of  Utah,  108,  126- 
35;  of  Oregon,  309,  310;  of 
the  Grand  Canon,  371- 
73. 

Forests,  of  Nevada,  164-83; 
of  Washington,  227-47; 
fire  a  governing  agent  in 
distribution  and  growth, 
238,  239;  of  Oregon,  297- 
309.  See  also  Trees. 

Fort  Townsend,  221. 

Fritillaria  pudica,  129-31. 

Fuca,  Juan  de,  209. 

Fumaroles,  on  Mt.  Shasta, 
72-78. 

Gaultheria,  240,  241. 
Glaciation,  about  Yosemite, 

24,  26-28;  at  Mt.  Shasta, 

33-36;    in    Nevada,    184- 

94;  of  the  Olympic  Mts., 

212;  of  Vancouver  Island, 

214,  215. 
Glaciers:  Ash  Creek,  97,  98; 

McCloud,  97-99;  Mud,  99; 

Whitney,  51,  63,  67,  87-89; 

of  Mt.  Rainier,  261,  263; 

of   the   tributaries   of   the 

Colorado,  378. 
Goat,  wild,  318,  319. 


INDEX 


Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado, 
stupendous  nature  of,  348- 
50;  compared  with  Yo- 
semite,  351,  352;  size, 
352,  353;  wild  architecture, 
353-57;  immense  width, 
358;  silence  of  visitors,  359; 
view-points,  359,  360;  ter 
minology,  360;  colors,  361, 
362;  at  dawn  and  at  sunset, 
362,  363;  at  midday,  363, 
364;  thunder-showers,  364- 
67;  snow,  367-69;  Bright 
Angel  Trail,  369,  370; 
Hance  Trail,  370,  371; 
vegetation,  371-73;  cliff- 
dwellers,  373,  374;  modern 
Indians,  375;  animal  life, 
375,  376;  Powell's  explora 
tion,  376,  377;  geology, 
378-82. 

Granite  Mt.,  166. 

Great  Basin,  glacial  phe 
nomena  of,  184-94. 

Great  Salt  Lake,  105;  bath 
ing  in,  121-25;  seen  from  a 
mountain-top,  133. 

Green  River,  256. 

Green  River  Hot  Springs, 
256. 

Half  Dome.  See  Tissiack. 
Hemlock  spruce,  231. 
Honey-bees,  38,  40. 
Hop  Ranch,  25&-S9. 
Hopeton,  19. 
Hops,  256,  257. 
Hot  Creek  Mts.,  187,  188. 
Hot  Springs,  Mt.  Shasta,  72- 

78. 
Hudson's  Bay  Company,  215, 

217,  314,  337,  343,  344. 


Hunting  and  hunters,  44-46. 
Hunt's,  259. 

Illilouette,  27,  28. 

Indians,  of  the  Shasta  region, 
41-44,  55;  Modocs,  42,  43, 
94-96;  and  pine-nuts,  169- 
74;  other  food,  172;  of  Pu- 
get  Sound,  209,250;  Seattle, 
254,  255;  hop-picking,  257; 
Douglas's  adventure,  302- 
04;  of  Oregon,  312;  on  the 
species  of  bears,  316;  tra 
dition  of  the  Cascades  of 
the  Columbia,  342;  in  the 
Grand  Canon,  373-75. 

Ingraham,  Prof.,  262. 

Irrigation,  148. 

Jeff  Davis  Mts.,  189. 
John  Day  River,  638. 
Jordan,  the  river,  Utah,  106, 

107,  119. 
Juan  de  Fuca,  Strait  of,  208, 

209. 

Keith,  William,   262. 
Kettle  Falls,  334. 
King  Mt.,  262. 
Klamath  Lake,  Lower,  92. 
Kootenay  Lake,  333. 
Kootenay  River,  333. 

Lake    Cceur    d'Alene,    334, 

335. 

Lake  Squak,  239. 
Lake  Tenaya,  26-28. 
Lake  Washington,  239. 
Lassen's  Butte,  53  and  note, 

54,  55,  101-03. 
Lava,   cave  formed   by,  44; 

at  Lassen's  Butte,  55. 


387 


INDEX 


Lava  Beds,  54,  90-97. 
Lewis  and  Clark,  314-17. 
Lewis  River.  See  Snake  River. 
Lilies,  of  Utah,  126-35. 
Linnsea,  86. 
Longmire,  Mr.,  262. 
Los  Angeles,  136. 
Lumbering,   in    Washington, 

242-47. 
Lumbermen,  248,  249. 

McAdie,  Prof.  A.G.,  261  note, 
McCloud  Glacier,  97-99. 
McCloud  River,  42,  43,  58, 

99-101;  big  spring  of,  99, 

100. 

Madrona,  234,  235. 
Maples,  of  Washington,  235, 

236;  of  Oregon,  308. 
Menzies,  Archibald,  231. 
Mining,  decay  of,  in  Nevada, 

197-203. 
Mirror  Lake,  20. 
Modoc  War,  94-96. 
Monito  Valley,  186. 
Mormons,    love    of    flowers, 

108,  110,  134;  the  women, 

109,  110,  134,  135;  influ 
ence    of    polygamy,    110- 
12;  children,  112;  Brigham 
Young,    117,   118;   human 
kindness,  125;  saved  from 
famine  by  lily  bulbs,  134; 
Lily  Young,  135. 

Mt.  Baker,  211,  216,  217. 
Mt.  Bremer,  91. 
Mt.  Brown,  332. 
Mt.  Constance,  218. 
Mt.  Hood,  293-97. 
Mt.  Hooker,  332. 
Mt.  Jefferson,  Nevada,  185- 
87. 


Mt.  Moriah,  166. 

Mt.  Olympus,  Washington, 
218. 

Mt.  Rainier,  208,  261-70. 

Mt.  San  Antonio,  146. 

Mt.  Shasta,  altitude,  29,  30; 
views  of,  30,  31;  zones  on, 
31,  32;  geology,  33-36, 
52-56;  flowers,  38;  insects, 
38,  39;  mammals,  39-41; 
birds,  41;  human  inhabit 
ants,  41-50;  hunting  about, 
49,  50;  excursions  on,  51; 
forest,  51,  52;  ascent,  52, 
53;  gases  and  vapor,  53; 
view  from  summit,  53-56; 
two  snowstorm  adventures 
on,  57-81 ;  the  Hot  Springs, 
72-78;  rambles  on  and 
about,  82-104. 

Mt.  Watkins,  24,  27. 

Mt.  Whitney,  29,  30. 

Mountain-climbing,  for  all 
sorts  of  people,  46-48. 

Mud  Glacier,  99. 

Muir's  Peak,  87. 

Multnomah  Falls,  341. 

Nevada,  seems  one  vast 
desert,  154;  agriculture, 
1 54-63 ;  forests,  164-83 ; 
larger  animals,  183;  glacial 
phenomena,  184-94;  dead 
towns,  195-203. 

Nevada  Fall,  28. 

Nisqually  Canon,  263. 

North  Dome,  Nevada,  181-83. 

Oak,  Kellogg's,  307. 
Oak,  live,  308. 

Oak,  white  (Quercus  Garry- 
ana),  307. 


388 


INDEX 


Okinagan  River,  336. 

Olyrnpia,  206. 

Olympic  Mts.,  211,  218. 

Oquirrh  Mts.,  121,  127,  128; 
storm  and  sunset,  114- 
19;  flowers,  128-33;  view 
from,  132,  133. 

Orange-culture,  138-42. 

Oregon,  woods  along  shore, 
209;  topography,  271,  272, 
277,  278;  settlement,  272- 
273;  shore  scenery,  274- 
76;  climate,  278-89;  moun 
tains,  289-98;  forests,  297- 
312;  flowers,309, 310;  mam 
mals,  312-25;  rattlesnakes, 
317;  birds,  325,  326;  rivers, 
327-46;  geology,  345,  346. 

Ousel,  water,  43,  325. 

Pasadena,  137,  141,  142. 

Pend  d'Oreille  Lake,  334. 

Pine,  dwarf  (Pinus  albi- 
caulis),  32. 

Pine,  foxtail,  175-80. 

Pine,  nut,  167-74,  373. 

Pine,  Oregon.  See  Spruce, 
Douglas. 

Pine,  sugar,  19,  300;  discov 
ery,  302-05;  character,  305, 
306;  and  the  lumberman, 
306,  307. 

Pine,  white  (Pinus  flexilis), 
175,  176,  180. 

Pine,  yellow,  102,  233,  300. 

Pinon,  167-74. 

Pinus  contorta,  233. 

Pinus  monticola,  233. 

Pitch,  an  Indian,  135. 

Pitt  River,  99,  101,  102. 

Pluto's  Cave,  89. 

Port  Townsend,  218-21. 


Portland,  Ore.,  292. 

Powell,  Major  John  W.,  352, 

376,  377. 
Pseudotsuga  macrocarpa,  153 

note. 
Puget  Sound,  205-26;  people 

and  towns  of,  248-60. 

Rat,  wood,  41,  150. 
Rattlesnakes,  152,  317. 
Rhododendron,  310. 
Rogue  River,  344. 
Rogue  River  Valley,  345. 
Rose,  wild,  214. 

Sacramento       River,       Big 

Spring  of,  87. 
Salal,  240,  241. 
Salmon,  344. 
Salmon-berry,  241. 
Salt  Lake.     See  Great  Salt 

Lake. 
Salt    Lake    City,    situation, 

105,  106;  description,  106- 

09;  the  people,  109-12. 
San  Gabriel  Mts.,  137,  145- 

53. 

San  Gabriel  Valley,  136-44. 
San  Juan  Island,  217. 
San  Pasqual  Rancho,  141. 
San  Pitch,  the  Lily  of,  135. 
Santa  Monica,  136. 
Schellbourne,  198,  199. 
Seattle,  246,  251-55. 
Seattle,    Indian    chief,    254, 

255. 

Sego,  134. 
Shasta  River,  99. 
Shasta  Valley,  41,  54. 
Sheep,  domestic,  culture  of, 

16,  17. 
Sheep,    mountain,    wool    of, 


389 


INDEX 


4-11,  17,  18;  size,  17,  18; 

of  Mt.  Shasta,  39,  66,  90- 

92;  in  the  Oquirrh  Mts., 

132;  in  Oregon,  319;  of  the 

Grand  Canon,  375. 
Sheep  Rock,  44,  89,  90. 
Shorb,  J.  De  Earth,  138,  139. 
Sisson,  59,  66,  79,  80. 
Sisson's,  49,  51,  59,  67. 
Snake  Mts.,  180-83,  188, 189. 
Snake  River,  328,  336. 
Snoqualmie  Fall,  258,  259. 
Snoqualmie  River,  237,  256, 

258,  259. 
Snowstorms,  two  adventures 

on  Mt.  Shasta,  57-81. 
Soda  Springs,  near  Mt.  Rai 
nier,  263. 

Sothern's  Station,  87. 
South  Dome.   See  Tissiack. 
Spokane  Falls,  335. 
Spokane  River,  334. 
Spruce.   See  Fir. 
Spruce  (Tsuga  Mertensiana), 

232  and  note. 

Spruce,  Douglas,  227-30,  299. 
Spruce,  hemlock,  231. 
Spruce,  Rocky  Mountain,  175, 

180-83. 
Spruce,  white,  or  Sitka  pine, 

230,  231. 

Squirrel,  Douglas,  66,  323-25. 
Storm,  a  grand,  114-18. 
Strait  of  Juan  de  Fuca,  208, 

209. 

Strawberry  Meadows,  37,  49. 
Strawberry   Valley,    30,    54, 

70,  80,  81,  86,  101. 
Sunset,  a  glorious,  118,  119. 


Tacoma,  246,  252,  253. 
Tenaya  Canon,  20-27. 


Tenaya  Creek,  24,  25. 

Tenaya  Fall,  21. 

Tissiack,  or  Half  Dome,  or 
South  Dome,  20,  21,  24,  27, 
28,  351. 

Toquima  Mts.,  185-87. 

Towns,  deserted,  195-203. 

Toyabe  Range,  161,  185,  187. 

Trappers,  321-23. 

Trees,  of  Mt.  Shasta,  31,  32; 
of  the  Oquirrh  Mts.,  132; 
of  Nevada,  166-83;  of 
Washington,  227-36;  of 
Oregon,  298-309;  of  the 
Grand  Canon  of  the  Colo 
rado,  371-73.  See  also  For 
ests. 

Troy  Range,  178. 

Tule  Lake,  90,  92,  93. 

Tulip,  Mariposa,  134. 

Turlock,  19. 

Umatilla  River,  338. 
Umpqua  Hills,  300. 
Umpqua  River,  344. 
Utah,  observations  in,   105- 

35. 
Utah  Lake,  133. 

Van  Bremer  brothers,  91, 
92. 

Vancouver,  George,  221,  222; 
quoted,  223. 

Vancouver  Island,  211-16. 

Van  Trump,  guide,  262. 

Victoria,  B.C.,  212-15. 

Volcanoes  and  volcanic  phe 
nomena,  Mt.  Shasta,  33- 
36,  52-56;  Indians'  fear 
of,  43,  55;  Lassen  Peak 
and  Cinder  Cone,  53  and 
note,  54,  55,  101-03;  cra- 


390 


INDEX 


ters  in  the  Shasta  region, 
56;  danger  of  eruption,  56; 
Mt.  Baker,  211;  Mt.  Rai 
nier,  268;  in  Oregon,  346. 

Wahsatch  Mts.,  105;  storm 
and  sunset,  114-19. 

Walla- Walla  River,  338. 

Washington,  Territory  and 
State,  topography  and  re 
sources,  204,  205;  observa 
tions  in,  205-70;  forests, 
227-47;  lakes  and  rivers, 
239,  240;  prairies,  240; 
berries,  240,  241;  lumber 
ing,  242-47;  farming  and 
cattle-raising,  242,  243; 
people,  248-50;  animal  life, 
250,  251;  towns,  251-55; 
excursions,  255-60. 

Water-ousel,  43,  325. 

Wheeler's  Peak,  166,  180- 
83. 


Whidbey  Island,  221. 
Whirlpool  River,  331,  332. 
White  Pine  Hills,  201. 
Whitney  Glacier,  51,  63,  67, 

87-89. 

Wildness,  vs.  culture,  3-18. 
Wilkes,  Charles,  quoted,  223. 
Willamette  River,  292,  295, 

296,  342. 
Willamette  Valley,  284,  314, 

343,  344. 
Wolverine,  183. 
Wolves,  313-15. 

Yakima  River,  337. 

Yelm  Prairie,  262. 

Yosemite,  a  winter  walk 
about,  19-28;  compared 
with  the  Grand  Canon, 
351,  352. 

Young,  Brigham,  117. 

Young,  Lily,  135. 

Yuccas,  372,  373. 


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